Have you got a favourite poem?

Ode to Autumn and St Agnes Eve, Keats.
Cargoes, John Masefield, wonderful read by Joanna Lumley on You Tube.

I recognise many of these poems from school, but some are new to me. My mum always loved poetry and thinking of her now makes me want to read more for myself. Thanks everyone.

Ae fond kiss ...by Rabbie Burns
Beautiful words

I read poems to suit my mood, so can't say that I have a favourite poem.
Do all the people who took part in the national survey actually read poetry, or are they just saying the ones that they've heard of?

The Donkey. G.K.Chesterton

The Lion and Albert. Marriott Edgar

Old Sam Stanley Holloway ( maybe)

The Green Eye of the Little Yellow God. J. Milton Hayes

And many more!

Lake Isle of Innisfree by W B Yeats

Mirage, by Christina Rosetti

The hope I dreamed of was a dream,
Was but a dream; and now I wake,
Exceeding comfortless, and worn, and old,
For a dream's sake.

I hang my harp upon a tree,
A weeping willow in a lake;
I hang my silent harp there, wrung and snapt
For a dream's sake.

Lie still, lie still, my breaking heart;
My silent heart, lie still and break:
Life, and the world, and mine own self, are changed
For a dream's sake.

‘The Glory of The Garden’ by Rudyard Kipling.

I have woken very early and just read right through all this thread. Thank you ladies.

What is this life full of care if we have no time to stand and stare. Always comes to mind.

One of the most powerful things I have ever read.

POLITICAL PRISONER : Terence Tiller

They set him labouring, who meant
all strength of his to faint and kneel;
but he endured, because she leant
her own smooth body to the wheel.

They stripped him naked, and they bound
with holly-branches every limb:
sure comfort against cold and wound,
her nakedness lay over him.

They held away all food and drink
but poison, tempting him towards death:
how should his resolution sink.
who lived upon her touch and breath?

They tied a rat upon his breast
for torment, having not foreseen
to whose pain he must yield at last,
her own breast offered in between.

They took her from him, and the cell
they shut him in was dark and sour:
she was: and this dissolved the wall,
and lit a candle every hour.

They quarried selfhood from his skull,
humanity from flesh and face:
still she stole back to him, to call
the ruined house her dwelling-place.

My favourites are To Autumn by John Keats, and Cargoes by John Masefield.

My all time favourite, and one I would teach to every year group at school if I was allowed is Blessing, by Imtiaz Dharker.

I find it beautiful, dignified, happy/sad and also very poignant. It always brings tears to my eyes at the end, so I try to make sure I get a student to read it aloud!

Blessing
The skin cracks like a pod.
There never is enough water.

Imagine the drip of it,
the small splash, echo
in a tin mug,
the voice of a kindly god.

Sometimes, the sudden rush
of fortune. The municipal pipe bursts,
silver crashes to the ground
and the flow has found
a roar of tongues. From the huts,
a congregation: every man woman
child for streets around
butts in, with pots,
brass, copper, aluminium,
plastic buckets,
frantic hands,

and naked children
screaming in the liquid sun,
their highlights polished to perfection,
flashing light,
as the blessing sings
over their small bones.

I remember enjoying several mentioned on here.
My favourite short poem was The Headless Gardener
by Ian Serraillier

A gardener, Tobias Baird,
Sent his head to be repaired;
He thought, as nothing much was wrong,
He wouldn’t be without it long.

Ten years he weeded path and plot,
A headless gardener, God wot,
Always hoping (hope is vain)
To see his noddle back again.

Don’t pity him for his distress –
He never sent up his address

I don’t even remember where or why I learnt it.

He Wishes for the Cloths if Heaven by W.B. Yeats.

Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

This is a great thread. I love many of the poems mentioned, including ‘Loveliest of trees’, ‘An Irish Airman Foresees his Death’ and ‘The Darkling Thrush’. My favourite would have to be a Shakespeare sonnet, such as number 65, ‘Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea’.

I had forgotten how happy reading poetry makes me, so thank you Yammy for starting this thread and cheering me up!
I too love Home thoughts from abroad and always think of it in Spring and how lucky we are to have such a beautiful season.
I also like some of the modern poems Icarus Allsorts by one of the Liverpool poets is very clever.

I like Cargoes by John Masefield and the Lady of Shalott by Tennyson.

Lovely thread. For several years I belonged to a poetry group where we would read and discuss our favourite poems. I learnt so much, particularly from some of those with non English speaking backgrounds. There are some marvellous poems out there all over the world.

youtu.be/qviM_GnJbOM

The Orange by Wendy Cope.

After reading all the amazing adventures other grans have had on the the thread titled 'The flipside of I have never' I was thinking what a simple, unadventurous little life I have lead compared and was reminded of this poem about how simple pleasures can bring so much joy and contentment.

gulligranny the words of that song reminded my of my Uncle bob singing it at family parties....the words seemed magical then and still do so today.

Lake Isle of Innisfree, W.B.Yeats and Crossing the Bar, Tennyson.

What a lovely thread! I wish there was a like button, so many interesting poems.

Thomas Hardy, The Darkling Thrush

I leant upon a coppice gate
When Frost was spectre-grey,
And Winter's dregs made desolate
The weakening eye of day.
The tangled bine-stems scored the sky
Like strings of broken lyres,
And all mankind that haunted nigh
Had sought their household fires.

The land's sharp features seemed to be
The Century's corpse outleant,
His crypt the cloudy canopy,
The wind his death-lament.
The ancient pulse of germ and birth
Was shrunken hard and dry,
And every spirit upon earth
Seemed fervourless as I.

At once a voice arose among
The bleak twigs overhead
In a full-hearted evensong
Of joy illimited;
An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small,
In blast-beruffled plume,
Had chosen thus to fling his soul
Upon the growing gloom.

So little cause for carolings
Of such ecstatic sound
Was written on terrestrial things
Afar or nigh around,
That I could think there trembled through
His happy good-night air
Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew
And I was unaware.

I too love poetry and have so many favourites, but my top ones are Daddy and Lady Lazarus by Sylvia Plath, An Irish Airman Foresees His Death by Yeats and Tam O'Shanter by Robert Burns.

Here it is: