Share your favorite poems
I thought this would have been good in olo’s "Discussions over wine" topic, but he’s not a fan of poetry, so write your favorite poems in here. Write the author’s name -including yourself, if that’s the case, and any other information about the poem you would like to share.
Should it be in English? I dont know… I have never read poetry in English. It will be good oportunity to me.
Here’s a poem that one of my brother-in-law’s recites every winter for our family. The poem was written by Robert Frost, and first published in 1923.
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
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
– (1874-1963)
I found a link to explain this and other Robert Frost poems. I’m not sure I agree with this person’s opinion about the poem, although it does make some sense. He writes that Frost was writing about euthanasia and fearing his own death.
http://www.geocities.com/kevintullos/robertfrost_poetry.html
And for those who want to analyze even more…
http://www.free-termpapers.com/tp/35/pya46.shtml
I Fuc|{ed ur w|-|ore
On da kitchens floor
We were doin’ da hardcore
While listenin’ 4 some N.O.R.E.
Cuz ur Bitc|-| is so poor…
Datz it…
PEACE!!!
oh 
another kind of art
I intended to put ‘Raven’ by Edgar Allan Poe here … but it’s so long 
Neverheless I like it
[quote]Telenor rašė:
I intended to put ‘Raven’ by Edgar Allan Poe here … but it’s so long
Neverheless I like it
[/quote]
It’s fantastic 
and worth putting in here! 
THE RAVEN by Edgar Allan Poe 1845
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door-
Only this, and nothing more."
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;–vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow–sorrow for the lost Lenore-
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore-
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me–filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door-
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;-
This it is, and nothing more."
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you"–here I opened wide the door;-
Darkness there, and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering,
fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore!"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"-
Merely this, and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice:
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore-
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;-
'Tis the wind and nothing more."
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and
flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed
he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door-
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door-
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore.
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no
craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore-
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning–little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door-
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."
But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered–not a feather then he fluttered-
Till I scarcely more than muttered, "other friends have flown
before-
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."
Then the bird said, "Nevermore."
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore-
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of ‘Never–nevermore’."
But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and
door;
Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore-
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o’er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o’er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee–by these angels he
hath sent thee
Respite–respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!–prophet still, if bird or
devil!-
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted-
On this home by horror haunted–tell me truly, I implore-
Is there–is there balm in Gilead?–tell me–tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil–prophet still, if bird or
devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us–by that God we both adore-
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore-
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend," I shrieked,
upstarting-
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!–quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my
door!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
And the lamplight o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the
floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted–nevermore!
long long time ago, i began writting poems myself. here’s the first:
DESPARATE
I’m out at night, thinkin of times,
When you were beside me.
Life passes by, and midnight strikes,
Right there, with you i’d like to be…
Why did you leave? I can’t live like this,
I feel lonely at night. I can’t even sleep.
I try to forget all, but still I dream of your kiss.
A huge stream of love flows in my dreams
A stream of longing for you, your gaze or even a glimpse,
I’d feel happy to look at you. To be not far away.
My love won’t dissapear. It will not extinct.
I know, I know I have to go on my way.
I have to let you out of my mind.
At least they say so.
But i can’t. Love made me blind.
It’s been decided: I’m gonna go.
You died… you died! Who did this injustice?!
I wasn’t there with you.
It’s all my foult. It was me who did the injustice.
Now I’m sure: I’m gonna go.
Go to where you went.
To heaven. To where you belong.
My struggle will end.
I’ve dreamt for too long.
It’s night again. The bridge’s high enough.
Noone’s around. And nobody will see.
The perfect conditions to meet you again
We’ll be together. We…
The fall… the darkness… the pain… the cold… I’m comin’
Wait a minute more… I’m comin…
nobody has judged it yet so no bad opinions welcome 
[quote] gendalfas rašė:
long long time ago, i began writting poems myself. here’s the first:
DESPARATE …
[/quote]
WOW , gendalfai, what a beautiful, yet sad and tragic poem! It is very lovely and touching. You must have been in deep pain to find such expressive writing… Thanks for sharing. Share some more, please!
Thanx Darpo1 for putting in The Raven!
… nevermore
I don’t know any English poem, but like Lithuanian poetry very much. Therefore I decided to translate first strophe of my favourites’
O man ,let me to miss the shine of childhood
Which is growing dim with greatest pain
I have got tired with real colours ages ago
They only ruin fragile drawing of the soul.
.
O leisk ilgetis man, žmogau,
Vaikystės spindesio, kuris taip skaudžiai gesta,
Nuo realių spalvu seniai as pavargau,
Jos tik suardo sielos trapu rasta
can I write in Lithuainian ? … 
feel free!
Prisipraset
Love poetry
in russian)
liubov - ni radast, a tiurma
Ja vas vliubilsia bez uma,
s umom by vozderzalsia…
just for fun
HA, ha, ha! You make a joke of our efforts to feel a little bit romantic 
in those rainy autumn days. I have printed 
all poems, which I found in this topic. My English it’s not enough to read them. 
But I try.
Paulius Sirvys:
Poetai myli aktores
ir dar …
ir dar kai ka…
o mums jie persa traktores,
gal keiskimes ,
ar ka ?
V etom mire ja gost’ neproshanij
Otovsiudu zdes’ veet xolodom
Nepoterianij no zabroshenij
Ja odin na odin s gorodom
Sredi podlosti i predatelstva
I suda na raspravu skorova
Jest’ prijatnoje obstojatelstvo
Ja liubliu tebia - eto zdorova!