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  1. #1
    Join Date
    Apr 2010

    The Poetry Thread

    Hello Berries, I know many of you are avid readers and I thought it would interesting to collect everyone's favourite poems. Please feel free to post your favourite poem/poems with the poet's name. They can be about love, friendship, nature etc...whatever strikes your fancy! Since this is a baby name site, I will begin with a poem about a subject close to our hearts: children. It was written by Khalil Gibran. I look forward to reading the little gems you love.

    Children by Khalil Gibran

    And a woman who held a babe against her bosom said, 'Speak to us of Children.'

    And he said:

    Your children are not your children.

    They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.

    They come through you but not from you,

    And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.

    You may give them your love but not your thoughts.

    For they have their own thoughts.

    You may house their bodies but not their souls,

    For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.

    You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.

    For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

    You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.

    The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.

    Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;

    For even as he loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable.
    All the best,

  2. #3
    Join Date
    Nov 2013
    I love that one, mischa! Though she's depressing at times, I would have to say that Emily Brontë is my favorite poet. I always end up going back to her work.

    Me thinks this heart should rest awhile
    So stilly round the evening falls
    The veiled sun sheds no parting smile
    Nor mirth nor music wakes my Halls

    I have sat lonely all the day
    Watching the drizzly mist descend
    And first conceal the hills in grey
    And then along the valleys wend

    And I have sat and watched the trees
    And the sad flowers how drear they blow
    Those flowers were formed to feel the breeze
    Wave their light leaves in summer's glow

    Yet their lives passed in gloomy woe
    And hopeless comes its dark decline
    And I lament because I know
    That cold departure pictures mine

    -Emily Brontë
    { august 11 }
    Colin Amory Hugh

    re-vamping my girl's list...
    Endymion Albert . Viggo Edmund . Omri Leo . Sutton Charles

  3. #5
    Join Date
    Jun 2013
    That's a great idea, mischa!
    I am majoring in Russian Literature so I read a lot of Russian verse. I think my favorite poet is Mikhail Lermontov - he has some stunning prose as well. Here is one of Lermontov's most amazing works, in Yevgeny Bonver's translation:

    The Sail

    The sail is whitening alone
    In blue obscurity of sea:
    What did it leave in country own?
    What does it want so far to see.

    The wind is strong, the mast is creaking,
    The wave is playing with the wave ...
    But not a fortune is it seeking,
    Nor from this fortune is its way.

    By it a stream is bright as azure,
    By beams of sun it's warmed and blessed
    But it is seeking gales as treasure,
    As if the tempests give a rest.
    Russian Lit student, bookworm, and arts geek.

    Frances Birdie JaneEmmeline Twila Alice Ramona Juniper Monet Esme Helena Mazarine Sibyl Jemima Iris
    Nathaniel Roscoe Wilde Grover Elijah St John Oscar Ignatius Cosmo Robin Hector BarnabyAxel Isidore Sage

    Atlas Casimir Arianwen Snow Dashiell Roman Cornelia Lark Jarvis Raphael Eugenie Plum Gwydion Hart Georgia Polly Seymour Kurt Hazel Miranda Wilbur Floyd Isolde Beatrix

  4. #7
    Join Date
    Jan 2012
    United States
    I've always loved this poem, but even more now that I am a parent. It's a little sad, but so true. Those last two lines get me right in the heart.

    "Those Winter Sundays" by Robert Hayden

    Sundays too my father got up early
    and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold,
    then with cracked hands that ached
    from labor in the weekday weather made
    banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.

    I’d wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.
    When the rooms were warm, he’d call,
    and slowly I would rise and dress,
    fearing the chronic angers of that house,

    Speaking indifferently to him,
    who had driven out the cold
    and polished my good shoes as well.
    What did I know, what did I know
    of love’s austere and lonely offices?

  5. #9
    Join Date
    Nov 2013
    Don't know if you guys have seen this yet...

    Personally, I think the misspellings make it even more beautiful somehow.
    { august 11 }
    Colin Amory Hugh

    re-vamping my girl's list...
    Endymion Albert . Viggo Edmund . Omri Leo . Sutton Charles

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