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Daily Archives: July 7, 2016

Top 10 Poems

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What are the world’s most popular poems?

Between May 15th 2007, and March 21st, 2008, Classic Poetry Aloud had some half a million downloads from across the globe. This shows the most downloaded poems, and so the world’s most popular poems, to be:

  1. She Walks in Beauty by Lord Byron
  2. Ode to Autumn by John Keats
  3. If by Rudyard Kipling
  4. Sonnet 18: Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer’s Day? by William Shakespeare
  5. Kubla Khan by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
  6. How Do I Love Thee? by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
  7. O Captain! My Captain! by Walt Whitman
  8. Ozymandias by Percy Bysshe Shelley
  9. Death by John Donne
  10. Ode on a Grecian Urn by John Keats

When I was a Child in ‘68

ken

 

Many Voices



~
I am in this room. A place where

People gather often alone. There are

Separate moments taking place

Everywhere. Yet it all seems close

~

In each interaction a choice is made

To say hello with our eyes or just

Toss our glance back to a computer

Screen …

~

We all have a façade that we

Work really hard to contain

Now if we can let go the negative

Connotation – façade, fake, pretend

~

We might recognize value in each individual

~

Interaction

Table crossing

Physical adjustment

Spilled coffee

Unmuted favorite song

– and now listen –

~

We don’t have to be different

We can all love and laugh

We can avoid the insecure scrutiny

That makes pretend our reality

~

By being present, we do exist

Long enough for the person nearby

To recognize a feature of your identity

So, that isolation might be in vain

~

Unless, of course

If we take a long walk in the forest

Continue going forward over brush and tree root and rocks

Come upon the edge of a cliff after miles of hiking

Without looking back

We then do find ourselves alone without anyone seemingly …

… Watching

~

Nature’s grasp upon our soul

Allows our physicality to interact

As human beings God’s peace exists

What happens when listening walks away?

 

Thom Amundsen 2013

Promote yourself

Don’t Worry, Kid – Promote Yourself

bluebirdxxxxxxxxx
I shed my skin many years ago.

At the back of those high trees in junior school.
That never ever seemed to grow gold in autumn.

It’s still there I bet – petrified. Old. stone skin.
Knees supporting a chin somehow still held high.
With a muddy arse on blooded school trousers.

Just still lacking whatever that place kept
Telling me I lacked.

We are different people him and I
He is my Bukowski’s bluebird
The boy I nurture and protect. As me and my own.

No one sees him – no one hurts him.

Only problem is –
He tells me what he used to tell everybody
“I’m fine, nothing to worry about, I just fell over”

I wish I didn’t know any different.

-Christopher Flame

christopherflame.wordpress.com

Hail! Oh Sword of Love – Promote Yourself



I

YOU’VE MET folks, and will still welcome
the mankind, then, now, forthcoming;
you’ve been stabbing them, neither getting
exhausted of it, over, over, and over again.

You’ll leave them bleeding in love, bruised
with ache, vested with solitude, frozen
grief in their faces, remorse within
their vacuous eyes; death within their soul.

II

You’ve met folks incapable of defending their
so-called self, competent of wasting their so-called
life, you’ll be stabbing them with your
sin-sharpened sword; heart pierced with vagueness.

You’ll abandon them like a butt of cigarette smoked
by several lips, a butt of cigarette gradually
engulfing by the vanishing fire, a but of cigarette,
stomped by hundreds of shoes; and they’ll die a little death.

III

Sword of Love what a sovereignty
in your possession’s, don’t you ever get dull?

Sword of Love all of us will encounter your
cold-blooded skin, and when we do, bury us!

Sword of Love you’ll have more than a lifetime,
to witness all the aftermath, entirely all! Everything!

Sword of Love stab me once, by your weapon, with
all your force, with all that’s left; and never retreat –ever.

Oh Sword of Love –

_______

Good day! I’m Andy Dimayuga, from Philippines (:
I just want to share my poem (:

I’m still studying and now in my senior year in college. I’m fond of reading poems and I wonder how writers/poets write such and now I find myself writing poems as well. 

Poets’ Convention

wolfxxxxxxxxxx

Twenty poets went to rhyme all on a summer’s day,
But two fell down a rabbit hole whilst going out to play.

Eighteen poets went to rhyme one rainy afternoon.
But ten fell down a wishing well whilst trying to rhyme with a spoon.

Eight brave poets went to rhyme one sunny day in May,
But six were drafted off to war and couldn’t have their say.

Two fair poets went to rhyme that fateful eventide,
But one was eaten by a wolf and ended up inside.

One last poet went to rhyme as the evening sky grew dark,
But then he spied a bonny lass and snogged her in the park.

Scarecrow


 
On fenlands of Lincolnshire – alone
 
Flapping against an aggression from the west
 
Borrowed clothes ripping as bellowed sails
 
Flecks of straw rising skywards in dust
 
A rigid form with fluid movement
 
Waving and bending and howling
 
Or is that the squalls of frightened seasons
 
On flatlands
 
On tilled earth
 
Beside the worm worn rook hops
 
Berates the form of tangled frightening
 
Folded scorn, in our clothes
 
Beyond lays a flattened horizon
 
A sun sets in solemn time
 
Lowers with the
 
Arms of the slanted soul who
 
Becomes shade and silhouette
 
Appears in a long view set against
 
A fading light
 
And whistles pitched high
 
Cut through this image of mankind.
 
 
Stephen Holloway.
 Nottingham poet
 
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