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Favorite Poet or Poem

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Anonymous

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I sometimes enjoy reading poetry; one of my favorite poets is Robert Service, anything from The Spell Of The Yukon. Anyone else have favorites?
 

Doc Manhattan

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I'm studying poetry right now, so I've been down a long reading list of great writers... but absolute all-time favorites? Probably Robert Frost, T.S. Eliot, Wallace Stevens, and Robert Burns. Maybe E.A. Robinson to make is a round top 5.
 
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Anonymous

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Here is a poem from one of my favorite movies:
I stand on the hill
not for a thrill
but for a breath
af a fresh kill
never mind the man
who contemplates
doing away with license plates
he stands alone anyway
baking the cookies of discontent
by the heat of a laundrymat vent
leaving his soul...

parting waters
under the medulla oblongata
of...

mankind.

Can you name the movie?
 
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Anonymous

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Here is a little diddy I found years ago relating to Tobacco:
Tobacco is a dirty weed:
I like it.
It satisfies no normal need:
I like it.
It makes you thin, it makes you lean,
It takes the hair right off your bean,
It's the worst darn stuff I've ever seen:
I like it.
-Graham Lee Hemminger
 

Winslow

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That first poem was from the movie "The Birdcage" with Robin Williams.

When I was in Sunday school they taught us:

Tobacco is a dirty weed
And from the Devil doth proceed............

Winslow :sunny:
 
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Anonymous

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Winslow":1mublbcz said:
That first poem was from the movie "The Birdcage" with Robin Williams.

When I was in Sunday school they taught us:

Tobacco is a dirty weed
And from the Devil doth proceed............

Winslow :sunny:
I don't know "The Birdcage" but I love Robin Williams. I'll have to check it out.
The movie I was thinking of is "Sling Blade" with Billy Bob Thorton.
:tongue:
I guess the Sunday School teaching didnt take huh? :darklord: :pipe:
 

Doc Manhattan

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Winslow didn't pay attention to that Sunday School lesson because that poem is rank Gnostic heresy. Gen. 1:11-12 and 1:29 tell us that tobacco is divinely-given. Shame on the Bible School teachers who can't handle even Book 1, Chapter 1!
 
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Anonymous

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T. S. Eliot...probably one of the greatest poets ever in all of English Literature...received the Nobel Prize (when it meant something) in 1954 (iirc) for his work in revitalizing and modernizing the field of poetry as Hemingway did with prose... :cheers:
 

SmokeyTweed

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Favorite poet? Charles Bukowski...

Favorite poem however, The Raven by Edgar Allen Poe.

Oh and Bob Dylan and Neil young aren't too bad.
 

Trout Bum

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Well, let's see here... Definitely enjoy Service and Frost (Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock, Oh yea!) but I like to hang a little further out on the fringes... Bukowski is flat out twistedly brilliant, definitely dig him. Gary Snydor, beat poet, is quite good. I am absolutely blown away by ANY poem by William Stafford -- check this guy out! He writes from a naturalist's perspective, both from mother nature and man's nature. He writes simply, clearly, yet quite deeply. And yes, Dylan and Young were/are certainly worth mentioning. "All Along the Watch Tower" -- Dylan's verse, Hendrix's licks, has got to be one of my all time favorite mixing of words and musical notes. With that being said, allow me to finish with a quote from Jimmy:

"It's not the notes, but the spaces in between." J. Hendrix
 

Trout Bum

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Oops, "Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock" is T.S. Elliot, not Frost, as I so erringly stated in my last post. I too, have "measured out my life with coffee spoons."

Oh, EJinVA, your tobacco poem is a full on classic! It should be recorded on a stone tablet and set upon the mount...

Extra: a line from a William Stafford poem --



"A candleflame in Tibet leans when I move."
 

ZuluCollector

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I love poetry. A LOT.

Pablo Neruda and Seamus Heaney are two of my favorite poets.

I started writing poetry when I was in my early teens and have been doing so ever since.

Here is a poem I wrote a year or so ago about pipes and tobacco. The only one:


THE TINY SPACE BETWEEN US

In the tiny space between us
Lingers the scent that betrays me.

Your nose, like you, is for the world’s sweet things:
Honeysuckle, peonies and roses, even the part of you
Imprisoned in your side of the bed - left there by
Your sleepy burrows into the safety of down and darkness.

My nose is for the world’s bitters, spice, and demons.
I can’t reveal my affection for dark things; it would scare you.
They make me necessary. There is some comfort in fire.

You think you smell tobacco on me.
Your eyes narrow as if it were some other woman.

How can I explain that it is my pondering you smell?
You are so much like the tobaccos I kindle.
I am alone with them only like I can be alone with you.

Like you, sugar bitters when it burns.
As I sip my Orientals and Turkish leaves
I sense the rough hands and time stops of the ages.
It is here I find my place.
 

Trout Bum

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Zulu -- GREAT poem! Well crafted, with solid imagery and tight wording. I especially like the line, "There is some comfort in fire." Nicely done!
 
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Anonymous

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Found this recently, thought it appropiate...

SMOKE DREAMS

Tobacco smoke! Blue-gray in wreaths,--
Blue laurel-wreaths which float in air,
As if, invisible, serene,
A dreaming angel hovered there,
A spirit of clam kindliness,--
A touch of eyes that smile through tears,--
A mantle of forgetfulness,
Thrown in the passions of the years.

I cross my knees, I puff my pipe,
The gentle Summer warmth creeps in;
The Summer warmth 'mid Winter's snows,--
For indolence shall banish sin,--
And watch the tasseled smoke-drops fall,
And note the fringed smoke-plumes rise,
And see the dreams, in legions, turn
To smoky nothings in the skies.

Tobacco smoke, like silken web,
Suspended in the restful airs,
To me and mine in soothing rhymes
A dainty, artless burden bears;
Let cares rage on-- let hopes renew--
The Yesterday, Tomorrow be--
But we are wise the smoke and I;
We cease regrets and troubles flee.
-A. B. Tucker
 

Irene Adler

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I'm a big fan of Emily Dickenson - she's so dark and twisty. I also really enjoy anything by Poe, and I love T.S. Elliot's Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats.
 
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Anonymous

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Subdivisions
By: Rush

Sprawling on the fringes of the city
In geometric order
An insulated border
In between the bright lights
And the far unlit unknown
Growing up it all seems so one-sided
Opinions all provided
The future pre-decided
Detached and subdivided
In the mass production zone
Nowhere is the dreamer
Or the misfit so alone
Subdivisions —
In the high school halls
In the shopping malls
Conform or be cast out
Subdivisions —
In the basement bars
In the backs of cars
Be cool or be cast out
Any escape might help to smooth
The unattractive truth
But the suburbs have no charms to soothe
The restless dreams of youth
Drawn like moths we drift into the city
The timeless old attraction
Cruising for the action
Lit up like a firefly
Just to feel the living night
Some will sell their dreams for small desires
Or lose the race to rats
Get caught in ticking traps
And start to dream of somewhere
To relax their restless flight
Somewhere out of a memory
Of lighted streets on quiet nights…
 
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