I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host of golden daffodils; Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. Continuous as the stars that shine and twinkle on the Milky Way, They stretched in never-ending line along the margin of a bay: Ten thousand saw I at a glance, tossing their heads in sprightly dance. The waves beside them danced; but they Out-did the sparkling waves in glee: A poet could not but be gay, in such a jocund company: I gazed—and gazed—but little thought what wealth the show to me had brought: For oft, when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils.
A splendid poem, even if the use of modern language changes it meaning in one line. I once went to company to discuss business called Gay Displays. Doubt that they still calling themselves that.
My favourite poem would take about three weeks to type out. The Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner by Samuel Taylor Coleridge. Such a strong piece of prose!
This is my favourite, though I like many. Diary of a Church Mouse by John Betjeman Here among long-discarded cassocks, Damp stools, and half-split open hassocks, Here where the vicar never looks I nibble through old service books. Lean and alone I spend my days Behind this Church of England baize. I share my dark forgotten room With two oil-lamps and half a broom. The cleaner never bothers me, So here I eat my frugal tea. My bread is sawdust mixed with straw; My jam is polish for the floor. Christmas and Easter may be feasts For congregations and for priests, And so may Whitsun. All the same, They do not fill my meagre frame. For me the only feast at all Is Autumn's Harvest Festival, When I can satisfy my want With ears of corn around the font. I climb the eagle's brazen head To burrow through a loaf of bread. I scramble up the pulpit stair And gnaw the marrows hanging there. It is enjoyable to taste These items ere they go to waste, But how annoying when one finds That other mice with pagan minds Come into church my food to share Who have no proper business there. Two field mice who have no desire To be baptized, invade the choir. A large and most unfriendly rat Comes in to see what we are at. He says he thinks there is no God And yet he comes ... it's rather odd. This year he stole a sheaf of wheat (It screened our special preacher's seat), And prosperous mice from fields away Come in to hear our organ play, And under cover of its notes Ate through the altar's sheaf of oats. A Low Church mouse, who thinks that I Am too papistical, and High, Yet somehow doesn't think it wrong To munch through Harvest Evensong, While I, who starve the whole year through, Must share my food with rodents who Except at this time of the year Not once inside the church appear. Within the human world I know Such goings-on could not be so, For human beings only do What their religion tells them to. They read the Bible every day And always, night and morning, pray, And just like me, the good church mouse, Worship each week in God's own house, But all the same it's strange to me How very full the church can be With people I don't see at all Except at Harvest Festival.
This is mine - I first knew of it from the ending to the TV series "Sex, Chips and Rock 'n' Roll" in 1999. Cloths of Heaven by William Butler 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 just to say William Carlos Williams I have eaten the plums that were in the icebox and which you were probably saving for breakfast Forgive me they were delicious so sweet and so cold
Yesterday a child came out to wonder Caught a dragonfly inside a jar Fearful when the sky was full of thunder And tearful at the falling of a star And the seasons they go round and round And the painted ponies go up and down We're captive on the carousel of time We can't return we can only look behind From where we came And go round and round and round In the circle game Then the child moved ten times round the seasons Skated over ten clear frozen streams Words like, when you're older, must appease him And promises of someday make his dreams And the seasons they go round and round And the painted ponies go up and down We're captive on the carousel of time We can't return we can only look behind From where we came And go round and round and round In the… Joni MItchell
Look, stranger, on this island now The leaping light for your delight discovers, Stand stable here And silent be, That through the channels of the ear May wander like a river The swaying sound of the sea. Here at a small field's ending pause Where the chalk wall falls to the foam and its tall ledges Oppose the pluck And knock of the tide, And the shingle scrambles after the suck- -ing surf, and a gull lodges A moment on its sheer side. Far off like floating seeds the ships Diverge on urgent voluntary errands, And this full view Indeed may enter And move in memory as now these clouds do, That pass the harbour mirror And all the summer through the water saunter.
Imagine there's no heaven It's easy if you try No hell below us Above us only sky Imagine all the people Living for today... Imagine there's no countries It isn't hard to do Nothing to kill or die for And no religion too Imagine all the people Living life in peace... You may say I'm a dreamer But I'm not the only one I hope someday you'll join us And the world will be as one Imagine no possessions I wonder if you can No need for greed or hunger A brotherhood of man Imagine all the people Sharing all the world... You may say I'm a dreamer But I'm not the only one I hope someday you'll join us And the world will live as one
The incomparable John Lennon. As one or two of you have enjoyed this thread I found a new poem - with the title of the thread: Willow-Anne Jan 2016: Tranquility There exists a place on earth Where one can find true peace A place away from stress and pain A place where all of it will cease For some, it's near the ocean That a calm can always be found The waves carry all the stress away With that familiar relaxing sound The coolness of the water, And the warmth of sunny rays, It doesn't take very long at all Before the world melts away For others it's the forest That sets their mind at ease The world feels completely still When you're surrounded by tall trees The air somehow feels calmer It smells remarkably fresh Some birds tweet in the distance And your thoughts again can mesh So often we get caught up In the worries of the day We forget to worry about ourselves And take some time away So whether you go alone Or with someone you hold dear Make sure to find the time you need To make your head feel clear
I am afraid my knowledge of poetry is extremely limited and that the few I do know and like are probably not suitable for this thread... However, this is a favourite song lyric of mine, and I think of Mrs H-F when I hear it, written by Robert Plant of Led Zeppelin: If the sun refused to shine, I would still be loving you. When mountains crumble to the sea, there will still be you and me. Kind woman, I give you my all, Kind woman, nothing more. Little drops of rain whisper of the pain, tears of loves lost in the days gone by. My love is strong, with you there is no wrong, together we shall go until we die. My, my, my. An inspiration is what you are to me, inspiration, look... see. And so today, my world it smiles, your hand in mine, we walk the miles, Thanks to you it will be done, for you to me are the only one. Happiness, no more be sad, happiness....I'm glad. If the sun refused to shine, I would still be loving you. When mountains crumble to the sea, there will still be you and me.
Lawrence Ferlinghetti From "Pictures of a gone world" 25. The world is a beautiful place to be born into if you don't mind happiness not always being very much fun if you don't mind a touch of hell now and then just when everything is fine because even in heaven they don't sing all the time The world is a beautiful place to be born into if you don't mind some people dying all the time or maybe only starving some of the time which isn't half so bad if it isn't you Oh the world is a beautiful place to be born into if you don't much mind a few dead minds in the higher places or a bomb or two now and then in your upturned faces or such other improprieties as our Name Brand society is prey to with its men of distinction and its men of extinction and its priests and other patrolmen and its various segregations and congressional investigations and other constipations that our fool flesh is heir to Yes the world is the best place of all for a lot of such things as making the fun scene and making the love scene and making the sad scene and singing low songs and having inspirations and walking around looking at everything and smelling flowers and goosing statues and even thinking and kissing people and making babies and wearing pants and waving hats and dancing and going swimming in rivers on picnics in the middle of the summer and just generally 'living it up' Yes but then right in the middle of it comes the smiling mortician
“Only the development of compassion and understanding for others can bring us the tranquility and happiness we all seek.” ―Dalai Lama XIV “We are not going to change the whole world, but we can change ourselves and feel free as birds. We can be serene even in the midst of calamities and, by our serenity, make others more tranquil. Serenity is contagious. If we smile at someone, he or she will smile back. And a smile costs nothing. We should plague everyone with joy. If we are to die in a minute, why not die happily, laughing? (136-137)” ―Swami Satchidananda,The Yoga Sutras
A philosopher of no great ability Set out to define true tranquillity He studied his peers For several years Thus delaying his great fear senility
Pure liquid diction, for me this gives me tranquility: (Sorry, not best as poetry, but just listen to it and think about his lyrics) and then maybe you oldies might give it some credit...