Favorite Poet?

[Melaniep]

I've always had a problem with poetry. I just never really got it, most of the time, except in the comic-spoken form.
I guess in terms of "real" poetry my favourite poet is the rambling drug-crazed nonsense of Coleridge.
My favourite poem of all, though, the most moving of the lot, is Dulce Et Decorum Est

[Margaret]

I love the blood and guts poems of Alfred Lord Tennyson, such as Charge of the Light Brigade and Morte D'Arthur.
I don't go for the romantic poets much, too wuzzy!
Debbie

[Sweetrustedchild]

My favourite poet is probably one not well known.
She's called Joolz and is a performance poet, artist, author and general all round nice woman (I've met her a few times and she is very down to earth).
Her work is very gritty and real and her characterisation is superb.
You can read a few of her poems here:
http://www.joolz.net/

[Creepshow09]

Petöfi.

[Vee9]

Aha! I am little Miss Clever-puss - I have found the explaination & here it is:
'You seem very clever at explaining words, Sir,' said Alice.
'Would you kindly tell me the meaning of the poem called Jabberwocky?'
'Lets hear it,' said Humpty Dumpty.
'I can explain all the poems that ever were invented - and a good many that haven't been invented just yet.'
This sounded very hopeful, so Alice repeated the first verse:
'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe
'That's enough to begin with,' Humpty Dumpty interrupted: 'there are plenty of hard words there. Brillig means four o'clock in the afternoon - the time when you begin broiling things for dinner.
'That'll do very well,' said Alice: 'and slithy?'
'Well, slithy means 'lithe and slimy'. 'Lithe' is the same as 'active'. You see, its like a portmanteau - there are two meanings packed up into one word.'
'I see it now,' Alice remarked thoughtfully: 'and what are toves ?'
'Well', toves are something like badgers - they're something like lizards - and they're something like corkscrews.' 'They must be very curious-looking creatures.'
'They are that,' said Humpty Dumpty; 'also they make their nests under sun-dials - also they live on cheese.'
'And what's to gyre and to gimble?' 'To gyre is to go round and round like a gyroscope. To gimble is to make holes like a gimlet.'
And the wabe is the grass-plot round a sun-dial, I suppose?' said Alice, surprised at her own ingenuity. 'Of course it is. It's called wabe you know, because it goes a long way before it, and a long way behind it - 'And a long way beyond it on each side,' Alice added.
'Exactly so. Well then, mimsy is 'flimsy and miserable' (there's another portmanteau for you). And a borogove is a thin shabby-looking bird with its feathers sticking out all round - something like a live mop.'
'And then mome raths ?' said Alice. 'I'm afraid I'm giving you a great deal of trouble.' 'Well, a rath is a sort of green pig: but mome I'm not certain about. I think it's short for 'from home' - meaning that they'd lost their way, you know.'
'And what does outgrabe mean?' 'Well, outgribing is something between bellowing and whistling, with a kind of sneeze in the middle: however, you'll hear it done, maybe - down in the wood yonder - and, when you've once heard it, you'll be quite content. Who's been repeating all that hard stuff to you?'
'I read it in a book,' said Alice
Taa-daaaa!

[Scott Hughes]

This is a beautiful poem Pontalba shared with us on another forum.( Hope you don't mind me borrowing it Pont :smile2

It was originally written by Li T'ai Po and loosely translated by Ezra Pound.
http://www.web-books.com/classics/Poetry...ner_ru.gif
The River-Merchant's Wife: A Letter


While my hair was still cut straight across my forehead
I played about the front gate, pulling flowers
You came by on bamboo stilts, playing horse,
You walked about my seat, playing with blue plums
And we went on living in the village of Chokan:
Two small people, without dislike or suspicion.

[Woodland Nymph]

I've always loved Emily Dickinson and Shakespeare. I'm not familiar with many other poets, but I would love to read Sylvia Plath's poetry.

[Ladeblue]

The Highwayman by Mathew Arnold (I think) has always been my favourite

But I also like "If" by Robert Louis Stephenson

and "Leisure" by Walter de la Mare.

[Tip the Bottle]

Emily Dickenson, Robert Service and Robert Frost are some of my favorites too.
I also love John Donne

[Modestgirly]

I can't help but quote a verse from Robert Service's Spell of the Yukon. I think it superbly reflects the peculiarities of human nature:

There's gold and it's haunting and haunting
It's luring me on as of old;
Yet it isn't the gold that I'm wanting
So much as just finding the gold.
It's the great, big, broad land 'way up yonder,
It's the forests where silence has lease;
It's the beauty that thrills me with wonder,
It's the stillness that fills me with peace.

This way of looking at life is true with us in so many situations. We often do things not so much because of the ultimate reward, but for the thrill gleaned by searching for it high and low.