What are your absolute favorite lines of poetry? Post them here

What are your absolute favorite lines of poetry? Post them here.

General rule: if they haven't brought you tears or goosebumps it's not good enough.

It's not one line but fuck you I won't do what you tell me:

Ay, in the very temple of Delight
Veil'd Melancholy has her sovran shrine,
Though seen of none save him whose strenuous tongue
Can burst Joy's grape against his palate fine;
His soul shalt taste the sadness of her might,
And be among her cloudy trophies hung.

>lines
>not plural

But good one, user

"OP is a pure fuckhead dickhead sucking on some dicks fucking on some dicks fuck outta here you dumb idiot bitch" - Rimbaud

Leave it to the reflective age of comfort to demand that a poem elicit histrionic displays of tears and goosebumps in order to be considered great

La nuit sort d'un éclair.

Oimè se quest'è amor com'ei travaglia
Giacomo Leopardi, Il primo amore
(Oh, if this is love, how it makes me suffer
Giacomo Leopardi, First love)

But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet — and here’s no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.

I thought her behind my back,
Yea, her I long had learned to lack,
And I said: ‘I am sure you are standing behind me,
Though how do you get into this old track?’
And there was no sound but the fall of a leaf
As a sad response; and to keep down grief
I would not turn my head to discover
That there was nothing in my belief.

"Woohoo, I'll never have to take a final again! feels good to be free. I just love Hobbes and Nietzche. Well tomorrow I'll be ordering 9 more 10 round clips for my carbine. I'm gonna be so fucking loaded in about a month. the big things we need to figure now is the time bombs for the commons and how we will get them in and leave then there to go off, without any fucking Jews finding them. I wonder if anyone will write a book on me. sure is a ton of symbolism, double meanings, themes, appearance vs reality shit going on here. oh well, it better be fuckin good if it is writtin."
- Eric David Harris

Him the Almighty Power
Hurled headlong flaming from th’ ethereal sky,
With hideous ruin and combustion, down
To bottomless perdition, there to dwell
In adamantine chains and penal fire,
Who durst defy th’ Omnipotent to arms.

Cuánto mejor sería, corazón,
que te agotaras, trágico y canoro,
en este amor vernal de fuego y oro,
en una fervorosa combustión.

- Gilberto Owen, "Y pensar, corazón..."

I hope my good old asshole holds out60 years it's been mostly OK
Tho in Bolivia a fissure operationsurvived the altiplano hospital--a little blood, no polyps, occasionallya small hemorrhoidactive, eager, receptive to phallus
coke bottle, candle, carrotbanana & fingers--
Now AIDS makes it shy, but still
eager to serve--out with the dumps, in with the condom'd
orgasmic friend--still rubbery muscular,
unashamed wide open for joy

The tarantula rattling at the lily’s foot
Across the feet of the dead, laid in white sand
Near the coral beach—nor zigzag fiddle crabs
Side-stilting from the path (that shift, subvert
And anagrammatize your name)—No, nothing here
Below the palsy that one eucalyptus lifts
In wrinkled shadows—mourns.

And yet suppose
I count these nacreous frames of tropic death,
Brutal necklaces of shells around each grave
Squared off so carefully. Then

To the white sand I may speak a name, fertile
Albeit in a stranger tongue. Tree names, flower names
Deliberate, gainsay death’s brittle crypt. Meanwhile
The wind that knots itself in one great death—
Coils and withdraws. So syllables want breath.

But where is the Captain of this doubloon isle
Without a turnstile? Who but catchword crabs
Patrols the dry groins of the underbrush?
What man, or What
Is Commissioner of mildew throughout the ambushed senses?
His Carib mathematics web the eyes’ baked lenses!

Under the poinciana, of a noon or afternoon
Let fiery blossoms clot the light, render my ghost
Sieved upward, white and black along the air
Until it meets the blue’s comedian host.

Let not the pilgrim see himself again
For slow evisceration bound like those huge terrapin
Each daybreak on the wharf, their brine-caked eyes;
—Spiked, overturned; such thunder in their strain!
And clenched beaks coughing for the surge again!

Slagged of the hurricane—I, cast within its flow,
Congeal by afternoons here, satin and vacant.
You have given me the shell, Satan,—carbonic amulet
Sere of the sun exploded in the sea.

"someones bound to say "what were they thinking?" when we go NBK or when we were planning it, so this what I am thinking. "I have a goal to destroy as much as possible so I must not be sidetracked by my feelings of sympathy, mercy, or any of that, so I will force myself to believe that everyone is just another monster from Doom like FH or FS or demons, so It's either me or them. I have to turn off my feelings." keep this is mind, I want to burn the world, I want to kill everyone except about 5 people, who I will name later, so If you are reading this you are lucky you escaped my rampage because I wanted to kill you. It will be very tricky getting all of our supplies, explosives, weaponry, ammo, and then hiding it all and then actually planting it all so we can achieve our goal. but if we get busted any time, we start killing then and there, just like Wilks from the AlIENS books, I aint going out without a fight."

I’m ready to become a floweret
Or a fat fly, but never, to forget
And I’ll turn down eternity unless
The melancholy and the tenderness
Of mortal life; the passion and the pain;
The claret taillight of that dwindling plane
Off Hesperus; your gesture of dismay
On running out of cigarettes: the way
You smile at dogs; the trail of silver slime
Snails leave on flagstones; this good ink, this rhyme
This index card, this slender rubber band
Which always forms, when dropped, an ampersand
Are found in Heaven by the newly dead
Stored in its stronghold through the years.
Intead....
- Nabokov, Pale Fire

Keats made me care about poetry.
He was a cut above the other british romantics in my opinion.
I do like Coleridge just because the dude was so bizarre.

I think it would be funny to hear Keats read his poetry in his cockney accent

“As he read, I fell in love the way you fall asleep: slowly, and then all at once.” - JG

wardine be cry

nice desu

good god

Gado que pasceis
Com contentamento
Vosso mantimento
Não no entendereis;
Isto que comeis
Não são ervas, não:
São graças dos olhos
Do meu coração

Is this a poem about some dude getting a blowjob and busting a nut on some chick's face?

It is my duty to please that booty - John Shaft

No hay tiempo que perder
Y si viene el instante prosaico 70
Siga el barco que es acaso el mejor
Ahora que me siento y me pongo a escribir
Qué hace la golondrina que vi esta mañana
¿Firmando cartas en el vacío?
Cuando muevo el pie izquierdo 75
¿Qué hace con su pie el gran mandarín chino?
Cuando enciendo un cigarro
¿Qué hacen los otros cigarros que vienen en el
( barco?
¿En dónde está la planta del fuego futuro?
Y si yo levanto los ojos ahora mismo 80
¿Qué hace con sus ojos el explorador de pie en el
( polo?
Yo estoy aquí
¿En dónde están los otros?
Eco de gesto en gesto
Cadena electrizada o sin correspondencias 85
Interrumpido el ritmo solitario
¿Quiénes se están muriendo y quiénes nacen
Mientras mi pluma corre en el papel?

No. Bad.
Stop

Deficientem animam, quod vis, tolerare jubebo,
Asrae dum superet, me moriente, fides
At Fidis Inferias vidi! et morior!—Ratione
Victum iri facili, me Ratione, putas?
Ah pereat, qui in Amore potest rationibus uti!
Ah pereat, qui, ni perdite, amare potest!
t. Coleridge

"I fell asleep the way John Green falls in love: slowly, and then it was time for cereal."

Had ye bin there — for what could that have don?
What could the Muse her self that Orpheus bore,
The Muse her self, for her enchanting son
Whom Universal nature did lament,
When by the rout that made the hideous roar,
His gory visage down the stream was sent,
Down the swift Hebrus to the Lesbian shore.

Alas! What boots it with uncessant care
To tend the homely slighted Shepherds trade,
And strictly meditate the thankless Muse,
Were it not better don as others use,
To sport with Amaryllis in the shade,
Or with the tangles of Neæra's hair?
Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise
(That last infirmity of Noble mind)
To scorn delights, and live laborious days;
But the fair Guerdon when we hope to find,
And think to burst out into sudden blaze,
Comes the blind Fury with th' abhorred shears,
And slits the thin spun life. But not the praise,
Phœbus repli'd, and touch'd my trembling ears;
Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil,
Nor in the glistering foil
Set off to th' world, nor in broad rumour lies,
But lives and spreads aloft by those pure eyes,
And perfect witness of all judging Jove;
As he pronounces lastly on each deed,
Of so much fame in Heav'n expect thy meed.

Je suis le Ténébreux, - le Veuf, - l'Inconsolé,
Le Prince d'Aquitaine à la Tour abolie :
Ma seule Etoile est morte, - et mon luth constellé
Porte le Soleil noir de la Mélancolie.

Dans la nuit du Tombeau, Toi qui m'as consolé,
Rends-moi le Pausilippe et la mer d'Italie,
La fleur qui plaisait tant à mon coeur désolé,
Et la treille où le Pampre à la Rose s'allie.

Suis-je Amour ou Phébus ?... Lusignan ou Biron ?
Mon front est rouge encor du baiser de la Reine ;
J'ai rêvé dans la Grotte où nage la sirène...

Et j'ai deux fois vainqueur traversé l'Achéron :
Modulant tour à tour sur la lyre d'Orphée
Les soupirs de la Sainte et les cris de la Fée.

>I felt a funeral in my brain
--
>And hit a world at every plunge, and I stopped knowing, then -

>good night, said the eclair
Where can I read about talking food?

The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream

Idk if you're joking or not, but I laughed anyway.

to the late night despondence within us all:

Good morning, Midnight!
I'm coming home,
Day got tired of me –
How could I of him?

Sunshine was a sweet place,
I liked to stay –
But Morn didn't want me – now –
So good night, Day!

And the rain continues on the roof with such a sound of gently pitying laughter.

the brain is wider than the sky,
For, put them side by side,
The one the other will include
With ease, and you beside.

The brain is deeper than the sea,
For, hold them, blue to blue,
The one the other will absorb,
As sponges, buckets do.

The brain is just the weight of God,
For, lift them, pound for pound,
And they will differ, if they do,
As syllable from sound.

how do you like your blue-eyed boy
Mister Death

I’ve come to believe in the living
and their sacrament of speech; how each word,
in the telling, is its own necessary story,
which is yours, which is mine.

Miss you Walter

"But while she prayed, for whom she prayed was killed, then down she sat/
Bereft of all her children quite and drawing to her fate/
Among her daughters and her songs and husbands newly dead;/
Her cheeks wax'd hard; the air could stir no hair upon her head;/
The colour of her face was dim and clearly void of blood;/
And sadly under open lids, her eyes unmoved stood."

We rest -- a dream has power to poison sleep;
We rise -- one wandering thought pollutes the day

Full half an hour, to-day, I tried my lot
With various flowers, and every one still said,
‘She loves me—loves me not.’
And if this meant a vision long since fled—
If it meant fortune, fame, or peace of thought—
If it meant,—but I dread
To speak what you may know too well:
Still there was truth in the sad oracle.

And now that's that. There is nothing more
that I can say or lose.
Others have traded life before
and could not speak. I tighten to refuse
your owling eyes, my fragile visitor.
I touch your cheeks, like flowers. You bruise
against me. We unlearn. I am a shore
rocking off you. You break from me. I choose
your only way, my small inheritor
and hand you off, trembling the selves we lose.
Go child, who is my sin and nothing more.

~Anne Sexton, "Unknown Girl In A Maternity Ward

And death shall have no dominion.
Dead man naked they shall be one
With the man in the wind and the west moon;
When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone,
They shall have stars at elbow and foot;
Though they go mad they shall be sane,
Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;
Though lovers be lost love shall not;
And death shall have no dominion.

And death shall have no dominion.
Under the windings of the sea
They lying long shall not die windily;
Twisting on racks when sinews give way,
Strapped to a wheel, yet they shall not break;
Faith in their hands shall snap in two,
And the unicorn evils run them through;
Split all ends up they shan't crack;
And death shall have no dominion.

And death shall have no dominion.
No more may gulls cry at their ears
Or waves break loud on the seashores;
Where blew a flower may a flower no more
Lift its head to the blows of the rain;
Though they be mad and dead as nails,
Heads of the characters hammer through daisies;
Break in the sun till the sun breaks down,
And death shall have no dominion.

From?

Yes and.