**(not written by me) SHARING MY FAVOURITE POETRY***

Discussion in 'Fibromyalgia Main Forum' started by Jeanne-in-Canada, Sep 4, 2005.

  1. Jeanne-in-Canada

    Jeanne-in-Canada New Member

    I just wanted to share some of my favourite poetry and invite you to share yours. I was looking through my import poetry, most of it is old style and some in very old english, but I prefer the King James Version Bible, so it's in a familiar and beautiful style to me anyway.

    This one never fails to move me:


    Weep you no more, sad fountains;
    What need you flow so fast?
    Look how the snowy mountains
    Heaven's sun doth gently waste.
    But my sun's heavenly eyes
    View not your weeping,
    That now lie sleeping
    Softly, now softly lies

    Sleep is a reconciling,
    A rest that peace begets.
    Doth not the sun rise smiling
    When fair at even he sets?
    Rest you then, rest, sad eyes,
    Melt not in weeping
    While she lies sleeping
    Softly, now softly lies
  2. Jeanne-in-Canada

    Jeanne-in-Canada New Member

    Thomas Moore (1779–1852)

    Believe Me, If All Those Endearing Young Charms

    Believe me, if all those endearing young charms,
    Which I gaze on so fondly today,
    Were to change by tomorrow, and fleet in my arms,
    Like fairy-gifts fading away,
    Thou wouldst still be adored, as this moment thou art,
    Let thy loveliness fade as it will,
    And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart
    Would entwine itself verdantly still.

    It is not while beauty and youth are thine own,
    And thy cheeks unprofaned by a tear
    That the fervor and faith of a soul can be known,
    To which time will but make thee more dear;
    No, the heart that has truly loved never forgets,
    But as truly loves on to the close,
    As the sunflower turns on her god, when he sets,
    The same look which she turned when he rose.
  3. Jeanne-in-Canada

    Jeanne-in-Canada New Member


    On my workshop poetry PFFA, someone did a tribute to your fave and they juxtaposed the old original w/ her own modern love story. It is one of the most touching things I've seen in modern poetry. I'll get her permission to post it, she has her own blog so it should be fine, plus she's a bud and we private message.

    My 2 favourite poets are Poe of course, and Robert Herrick (he's oldstyle naughty, bawdy and very funny). Elliot and Frost have to figure somewhere too.

  4. sunnywey

    sunnywey New Member

    Old age, I decided, is a gift.

    I am now, probably for the first time in my life, the person I have always wanted to be. Oh, not my body! I sometime despair over my body ... the wrinkles, the baggy eyes, and the sagging butt.
    And often I am taken aback by that old person that lives in my
    mirror, but I don't agonize over those things for long.

    I would never trade my amazing friends, my wonderful life, my loving family for less gray hair or a flatter belly. As I've aged, I've become more kind to myself, and less critical of myself. I've become my own friend. I don't chide myself for eating that extra cookie, or for not making my bed, or for buying that silly cement gecko that I didn't need, but looks so avante garde on my patio. I am entitled to overeat, to be messy, to be extravagant. I have seen too many dear friends leave this world too soon; before they understood the great freedom that comes with aging.

    Whose business is it if I choose to read or play on the computer until 4 a.m., and sleep until noon?

    I will dance with myself to those wonderful tunes of the 60's, and if I, at the same time, wish to weep over a lost love... I will.

    I will walk the beach in a swim suit that is stretched over a bulging body, and will dive into the waves with abandon if I choose to, despite the pitying glances from the bikini set.

    They, too, will get old.

    I know I am sometimes forgetful. But there again, some of life is just as well forgotten ... and I eventually remember the important things.

    Sure, over the years my heart has been broken.

    How can your heart not break when you lose a loved one, or when a child suffers, or even when a beloved pet gets hit by a car? But broken hearts are what give us strength and understanding and compassion. A heart never broken is pristine and sterile and will never know the joy of being imperfect.

    I am so blessed to have lived long enough to have my hair turn gray, and to have my youthful laughs be forever etched into deep grooves on my face. So many have never laughed, and so many have died before their hair could turn silver. I can say "no", and mean it. I can say "yes", and mean it.

    As you get older, it is easier to be positive.
    You care less about what other people think.
    I don't question myself anymore.
    I've even earned the right to be wrong.

    So, to answer your question, I like being old.
    It has set me free.

    I like the person I have become.
    I am not going to live forever, but while I am still here,
    I will not waste time lamenting what could have been, or worrying about what will be. And I shall eat dessert every single day.

    Author unknown!

  5. sunnywey

    sunnywey New Member

    Strange Old Lady

    by Rose Madeline Mula

    A very weird thing has happened. A strange old lady has moved into my house. I have no idea who she is, where she came from, or how she got in. I certainly didn't invite her. All I know is that one day she wasn't there, and the next day she was.

    She's very clever. She manages to keep out of sight for the most part; but whenever I pass a mirror, I catch a glimpse of her there; and when I look into a mirror directly to check on my appearance, suddenly she's hogging the whole thing, completely obliterating my gorgeous face and body. It's very disconcerting. I've tried screaming at her to leave--but she just screams back, grimacing horribly. She's really rather frightening.

    If she's going to hang around, the least she could do is offer to pay rent. But no. Every once in a while I do find a couple of dollar bills on the kitchen counter, or some loose change on my bureau or on the floor, but that certainly isn't enough. In fact, though I don't like to jump to conclusions, I think she steals money from me quite regularly. I go to the ATM and withdraw a hundred dollars, and a few days later, it's gone. I certainly don't go through it that fast, so I can only conclude that the old lady pilfers it. You'd think she'd spend some of it on wrinkle cream. God knows she needs it.

    And money isn't the only thing she's taking. Food seems to disappear at an alarming rate. Especially the good stuff--ice cream, cookies, candy...I just can't seem to keep them in the house. She really has a sweet tooth. She should watch it; she's putting on the pounds. I think she realizes that, and to make herself feel better, I know she's tampering with my scale so I'll think that I'm gaining weight, too. For an old lady, she's really quite childish.She also gets into my closets when I'm not home and alters all my clothes. They're getting tighter every day.

    Another thing: I wish she'd stop messing with my files and the papers on my desk. I can't find a thing any more. This is particularly hard to deal with because I'm extremely neat and organized; but she manages to jumble everything up so nothing is where it's supposed to be. Furthermore, when I program my VCR to tape something important, she fiddles with it after I leave the rom so it records the wrong channel or shuts off completely.

    She finds innumerable, imaginative ways to irritate me. She gets to my newspapers, magazines and mail before me and blurs all the print; and she's done something sinister with the volume controls on my TV, radio and phone. Now all I hear are mumbles and whispers. She's also made my stairs steeper, my vacuum cleaner heavier, all my knobs and faucets hard to turn, and my bed higher and a real challenge to climb into and out of.

    Furthermore, she gets to my groceries as soon as I shelve them and applies glue to the tops of every jar and bottle so they're just about impossible to open. Is this any way to repay my hospitality?

    I don't even get any respite at night. More than once her snoring has awakened me. I don't know why she can't do something about that. It's very unattractive.

    As if all this isn't bad enough, she is no longer confining her malevolence to the house. She's now found a way to sneak into my car with me and follow me wherever I go. I see her reflection in store windows as I pass, and she's taken all the fun out of clothes shopping because her penchant for monopolizing mirrors has extended to dressing rooms. When I try something on, she dons an identical outfit--which looks ridiculous on her--and then stands directly in front of me so I can't see how great it looks on me.

    I thought she couldn't get any meaner than that; but yesterday she proved me wrong. She had the nerve to come with me when I went to have some passport pictures taken, and she actually stepped in front of the camera just as the shutter clicked. Disaster! I have never seen such a terrible picture. How can I go abroad now? No customs official is ever going to believe that the crone scowling from my passport is me.

    She's walking on very thin ice. If she keeps this up, I swear, I'll put her in a home. On second thought, I shouldn't be too hasty. First, I think I'll check with the IRS and see if I can claim her as a dependent.

  6. windblade

    windblade Active Member

    I loved the Thomas Moore poem. Will copy it to put in a
    journal I keep of favorite poems. What is your 'workshop'
    about? I think poetry is one of the mainstays of my life.
    It's great to read what people share here.
  7. LittleBluestem

    LittleBluestem New Member

    I can see this getting out of hand, but I had to jump in none-the-less.

    I am a big Robert Frost fan. It's difficult to pick my favorite, but I post "Nothing Gold Can Stay".

    Nature's first green is gold,
    Her hardest hue to hold.
    Her early leaf's a flower,
    But only so and hour,
    Then leaf subsides to leaf.
    So Eden sank to grief,
    So dawn goes down to day,
    Nothing gold can stay.
  8. LittleBluestem

    LittleBluestem New Member

    High Flight by W. G. McGee

    Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of earth,
    And danced the sky on laughter silvered wings.
    Sunward, I've climbed and joined the tumbling mirth
    Of sun-split clouds, and done a hundred things
    You have not dreamed of - wheeled and soared and swung.
    High in the sunlit silence hovering there,
    I've chased the shouting wind along and flung
    My eager craft thru footless halls of air.

    Up, up the long delirious burning blue.
    I've topped the windswept heights with easy grace,
    Where never lark nor even eagle flew.
    And while with silent lifting mind I've trod
    That high untrespassed sanctity of space,
    Reached out my hand and touched the face of God.

    Perhaps I should add that the author was a RAF pilot during WWII.[This Message was Edited on 09/07/2005]
  9. brit_17759

    brit_17759 New Member

    and ladies for the lovely poetry, I enjoyed reading them with my morning coffee, I found it very refreshing. As I was feeling semi human after only 3 hours of sleep.

  10. Jeanne-in-Canada

    Jeanne-in-Canada New Member

    Adam's Complaint

    Some people,
    no matter what you give them,
    still want the moon.

    The bread,
    the salt,
    white meat and dark,
    still hungry.

    The marriage bed
    and the cradle,
    still empty arms.

    You give them land,
    their own earth under their feet,
    still they take to the roads.

    And water: dig them the deepest well,
    still it’s not deep enough
    to drink the moon from.

    Denise Levertov
  11. Jeanne-in-Canada

    Jeanne-in-Canada New Member

    What Elizabeth Knew

    How do I love thee? Let me count the ways:
    **She must have whispered it to Robert at least once
    as kisses led to need and nakedness.
    Else, would she know?

    I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
    My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
    For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
    **With each new son in my arms, slick
    and halleluiah howling ,
    you stroke the curve of pinch-fisted fingers
    sweeping sweat out of my eyes,
    your own face flavored by tears.

    I love thee to the level of everyday’s
    Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
    In the wake of your Sunday morning shower
    **I pour wet towels into the hamper,
    rinse the soup of graying stubble and
    shaving cream down the drain. Above the sink
    I find my hearted name written in the steam
    on the mirror.

    I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
    I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
    **On Valentines Day an old friend emails me,
    asks about us. I tell him about coffee on the deck
    in the grey to gold a.m., how you recited Elizabeth to me,
    my bare feet tucked in the warmth
    between your hands and knees.

    I love thee with the passion put to use
    In my old griefs and with my childhood’s faith
    **As I come to bed I see your arm thrown in sleep
    across the sheets. Your smell; sawdust, Old Spice,
    and Dove soap, calls me to draw a bare leg
    across your thigh, waking you to me.

    I love thee with a love I seem to lose
    With my lost saints--I love thee with the breath
    Smiles, tears, of all my life!--and, if God choose,
    I shall but love thee better after death.
    **You call from work to say, “The roads are icy. I’m not coming home.”
    So I slip your red flannel shirt over my shoulders,
    snaps still hot from the dryer. Sleet pops
    against windows over the couch where I lay,
    my head on your pillow.

    Fifteen years of nights together
    and I am still unstrung by an empty bed.

    (by Mary Paddock)

    ***Italics quoted from “Sonnet #43” by Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

    {poem from Mary's (earthshoes') poetry blog at http://everypoet.net/earthshoes/poetry2.html
    used by permission}

  12. Mar19

    Mar19 New Member

    Here's one of my favourites. It's by Robert Frost and I've loved it since I was in high school. (Many, many years ago..)



    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.

    -- Robert Frost
  13. Mar19

    Mar19 New Member

    This one is very special to me. I came across it when my mother was fighting her last, brave fight against cancer.


    Dirge without Music

    Edna St. Vincent Millay

    I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground.
    So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind:
    Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely. Crowned
    With lilies and with laurel they go; but I am not resigned.

    Lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you.
    Be one with the dull, the indiscriminate dust.
    A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew,
    A formula, a phrase remains, --- but the best is lost.

    The answers quick & keen, the honest look, the laughter, the love,
    They are gone. They have gone to feed the roses. Elegant and curled
    Is the blossom. Fragrant is the blossom. I know. But I do not approve.
    More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses in the world.

    Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave
    Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;
    Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.
    I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.


    I know it's terribly sad, but this poem also has such a poignant beauty to it.
  14. Shannonsparkles

    Shannonsparkles New Member

    one by me

    Just wanted to say hello
    You have helped me more than you can know.
    To come back in, to hear your voice
    Makes my tired heart rejoice.
    So shine on, all, and let it come
    Plant your hope in everyone
    Don't stay away - let out your fears
    You're always safe when you come here.
    {{{{{ }}}}}}}
  15. Mar19

    Mar19 New Member


    Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
    That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it
    And spills the upper boulder in the sun,
    And make gaps even two can pass abreast.
    The work of hunters is another thing:
    I have come after them and made repair
    Where they have left not one stone on a stone,
    But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,
    To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,
    No one has seen them made or heard them made,
    But at spring mending-time we find them there,
    I let my neighbor know beyond the hill;
    And on a day we meet to walk the line
    And set the wall between us once again.
    We keep the wall between us as we go.
    To each the boulders that have fallen to each.
    And some are loaves and some so nearly balls
    We have to use a spell to make them balance:
    "Stay where you are until our backs are turned!"
    We wear our fingers rough with handling them.
    Oh, just another kind of outdoor game,
    One on a side. It comes to little more:
    There where it is we do not need the wall:
    He is all pine and I am apple orchard.
    My apple trees will never get across
    And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.
    He only says, "Good fences make good neighbors."
    Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder
    If I could put a notion in his head:
    "Why do they make good neighbors? Isn't it
    Where there are cows? But here there are no cows.
    Before I built a wall I'd ask to know
    What I was walling in or walling out,
    And to whom I was like to give offense.
    Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
    That wants it down." I could say "Elves" to him,
    But it's not elves exactly, and I'd rather
    He said it for himself. I see him there,
    Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top
    In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.
    He moves in darkness as it seems to me,
    Not of woods only and the shade of trees.
    He will not go behind his father's saying,
    And he likes having thought of it so well
    He says again, "Good fences make good neighbors."
  16. Mar19

    Mar19 New Member

    Another favorite I remember from high school..


    When I Was One-And-Twenty

    A. E. Housman

    When I was one-and-twenty
    I heard a wise man say,
    “Give crowns and pounds and guineas
    But not your heart away;
    Give pearls away and rubies
    But keep your fancy free.”
    But I was one-and-twenty,
    No use to talk to me.

    When I was one-and-twenty
    I heard him say again,
    “The heart out of the bosom
    Was never given in vain;
    ’Tis paid with sighs a plenty
    And sold for endless rue.”
    And I am two-and-twenty
    And oh, ’tis true, ’tis true.
  17. Jeanne-in-Canada

    Jeanne-in-Canada New Member


    Being able to breathe out
    one's unhappiness

    breathe out deeply
    so that one can
    breathe in again

    And perhaps also being able to speak
    one's unhappiness
    in words
    in real words
    which are coherent
    and make sense
    and which one can
    understand oneself
    and which perhaps
    someone else can understand
    or could understand

    And being able to try

    That again would
    almost be

    by Christoph

    [This Message was Edited on 09/07/2005]
  18. Mar19

    Mar19 New Member

    Leave it to Dorothy Parker....


    "One Perfect Rose"
    ____ by Dorothy Parker

    A single flow'r he sent me, since we met.
    All tenderly his messenger he chose;
    Deep-hearted, pure, with scented dew still wet--
    One perfect rose.

    I knew the language of the floweret;
    "My fragile leaves," it said, "his heart enclose."
    Love long has taken for his amulet
    One perfect rose.

    Why is it no one ever sent me yet
    One perfect limousine, do you suppose?
    Ah no, it's always just my luck to get
    One perfect rose.


  19. sues1

    sues1 New Member

    I loved the poems....many are my favorites also.

    Years ago I read the following. I do not know if it is true, but I loved and remembered it.
    Robert Frost was traveling and to pass time he was writting some poetry, as he relaxed and thought. He left one paper behind, I think he gave it to the passenger beside him.
    He read it as Frost left and it said:

    Papa loved Mama!
    Mama loved men!
    Mama's in the graveyard!
    and Papa's in the pen!
    I hope this brings a smile to someones face this morning!

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