What's your favourite poem that's not written by you?

Mending Wall by Robert Frost

Something there is that doesn't love a wall,

That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,

And spills the upper boulders in the sun,

And makes 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 out-door 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,:...........................................35

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."

It's quite meaningful. :)

Every night when darkness falls

an innocent kitten breaks cat law.

Balancing like an acrobat,

walks along an oak tree branch.

Hurry's over the roof with speed.

Then begins his robbing scheme.

Jumps from the roof with a silent fall,

hits the ground and jumps a wall.

Through the neighbor's fence and gate,

to their cats water and takes a drink.

Then another-then another-then,

SLURP!!!!!!

Finally the last bit is gone.

It is now time for the foods downfall.

Smells good to a cat. Like fish.

The cat dives for the food like a fruit bat that has just spotted an orchard.

CRUNCH!!!!!

The last survivors are destroyed.

Then as silently as he had come,

the thief is gone.

In the morning when I open the door.

The innocent kitten sits there like before.

Until the next night, my little friend.

Until the next night,

when the dark kitty ninja strikes again.

Canis Major by Robert Frost

The great Overdog

That heavenly beast

With a star in one eye

Gives a leap in the east.

He dances upright

All the way to the west

And never once drops

On his forefeet to rest.

I'm a poor underdog,

But to-night I will bark

With the great Overdog

That romps through the dark.

Its my favorite because I love astrology and this is the best poem I've seen about a contellation plus Robert Frost is my favorite poet.

My favourite poem was written by a friend. It's on paper someone special so I can't type it out but it is beautiful.

It's my favourite because I have that personal attachment to the poem and what it's about and the poet.

The Goops

by Gillette Burgess

The Goops they lick their fingers,

And the Goops they lick their knives;

They spill their broth on the tablecloth--

Oh, they lead disgusting lives!

The Goops they talk while eating,

And loud and fast they chew;

And that is why I'm glad that I

Am not a Goop--are you?

It's my favorite because I love the way it sounds, along with being cute and funny, and I've always remembered it since childhood.

I have two, at the moment....

Links below take you to them. One talks about the seeming futility of life, why bother? The second one gives a possible reason to hang onto things.

Here's the second one:

Like a million little doorways

All the choices we made

All the stages we passed through

All the roles we played

For so many different directions

Our separate paths might have turned

With every door that we opened

Every bridge that we burned

Somehow we find each other

Through all that masquerade

Somehow we found each other

Somehow we have stayed

In a state of grace

I don't believe in destiny

Or the guiding hand of fate

I don't believe in forever

Or love as a mystical state

I don't believe in the stars or the planets

Or angels watching from above

But I believe there's a ghost of a chance we can find someone to love

And make it last...

Like a million little crossroads

Through the backstreets of youth

Each time we turn a new corner

A tiny moment of truth

For so many different connections

Our separate paths might have made

With every door that we opened

Every game we played

Somehow we find each other

Through all that masquerade

Somehow we found each other

Somehow we have stayed

In a state of grace

I don't believe in destiny

Or the guiding hand of fate

I don't believe in forever

Or love as a mystical state

I don't believe in the stars or the planets

Or angels watching from above

But I believe there's a ghost of a chance we can find someone to love

And make it last...

When my mind is still and alone with the beating of my heart,

I remember things too easily forgotten:

The purity of early love,

The maturity of unselfish love that asks --

desires -- nothing but another's good,

The idealism that has persisted through all the tempest of life.

When my mind is still and alone with the beating of my heart,

I can find a quiet assurance, an inner peace, in the core of my being.

It can face the doubt, the loneliness, the anxiety,

Can accept these harsh realities and can even grow

Because of these challenges to my essential being.

When my mind is still and alone with the beating of my heart,

I can sense my basic humanity,

And then I know that all men and women are my brothers and sisters.

Nothing but my own fear and distrust can separate me from the love of friends.

If I can trust others, accept them, enjoy them,

Then my life shall surely be richer and more full.

If I can accept others, this will help them to be more truly themselves,

And they will be more able to accept me.

When my mind is still and alone with the beating of my heart,

I know how much life has given me:

The history of the race, friends and family,

The opportunity to work, the chance to build myself.

Then wells within me the urge to live more abundantly,

With greater trust and joy,

With more profound seriousness and earnest service,

And yet more calmly at the heart of life.

WHERE dips the rocky highland

Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,

There lies a leafy island

Where flapping herons wake

The drowsy water rats;

There we've hid our faery vats,

Full of berrys

And of reddest stolen cherries.

Come away, O human child!

To the waters and the wild

With a faery, hand in hand,

For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

Where the wave of moonlight glosses

The dim gray sands with light,

Far off by furthest Rosses

We foot it all the night,

Weaving olden dances

Mingling hands and mingling glances

Till the moon has taken flight;

To and fro we leap

And chase the frothy bubbles,

While the world is full of troubles

And anxious in its sleep.

Come away, O human child!

To the waters and the wild

With a faery, hand in hand,

For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

Where the wandering water gushes

From the hills above Glen-Car,

In pools among the rushes

That scarce could bathe a star,

We seek for slumbering trout

And whispering in their ears

Give them unquiet dreams;

Leaning softly out

From ferns that drop their tears

Over the young streams.

Come away, O human child!

To the waters and the wild

With a faery, hand in hand,

For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

Away with us he's going,

The solemn-eyed:

He'll hear no more the lowing

Of the calves on the warm hillside

Or the kettle on the hob

Sing peace into his breast,

Or see the brown mice bob

Round and round the oatmeal chest.

For he comes, the human child,

To the waters and the wild

With a faery, hand in hand,

For the world's more full of weeping than he can understand

W. B. Yeats ~~

The reason i love it is because it was turned into a song by one of my favourite bands. They have done a whole album on his works which is amazing...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mVSN9DMvl6I ..its beautiful ...

The Laboratory - Robert Browning - it's so beautifully described and oozes secret meaning!

Passing stranger! you do not know how longingly I look upon you,

You must be he I was seeking, or she I was seeking, (it comes to me as of a dream,)

I have somewhere surely lived a life of joy with you,

All is recall'd as we flit by each other, fluid, affectionate, chaste, matured,

You grew up with me, were a boy with me or a girl with me,

I ate with you and slept with you, your body has become not yours only nor left my body mine only,

You give me the pleasure of your eyes, face, flesh, as we pass, you take of my beard, breast, hands, in return,

I am not to speak to you, I am to think of you when I sit alone or wake at night alone,

I am to wait, I do not doubt I am to meet you again,

I am to see to it that I do not lose you.