Friday Question #63: Do you have a favorite poem?

Happy Friday, BookishFirst Readers!

April is National Poetry Month! What is your favorite poem? (or) Who is your favorite poet?

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Lord Tennyson—I’ve loved his poetry ever since since Anne read Lady of Shalott in the movie version of Green Gables :slight_smile:

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I have two: Invictus by William Ernest Henley and Fern Hill by Dylan Thomas. Those poems I first read while in high school and they have stayed just as powerful for me now, many, many years later.

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I don’t know if I would say I have a favorite poem. There are so many poets I appreciate from Tennyson to Byron to local poets.

I have been reading poetry since I was a girl when I read Edgar Allan Poe’s poems. Walt Whitman, TS Eliot, Emily Dickinson, Elizabeth Bishop, Anne Sexton, and most of all, Ranier Maria Rilke.

I love Sylvia Plath!

I’ve loved the poetry that I’ve read from Amanda Lovelace and Rupi Kaur!

I agree on Tennyson but i love Longfellow about friendship being a sheltering tree.

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Longfellow is very good as well :slight_smile:

Mary Oliver by far. Her poetry is so pertinent to today’s life. Her “tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life” is magical to me. Her poem Wild Geese is amazing. Highly recommend her poetry. And Amanda Gorman the young poet at the inauguration has my vote to for a great talent. Both poets resonate with today’s times to me.

“ you must live through the time when everything hurts" by Stephen spender

Yes! Emily Dickinson! “Because I could not stop for death”. Absolutely beautiful and perfect in every way.

I don’t have a favorite poem

My favorite poem is “Annabelle Lee” -by Edgar Allen Poe

Robert Frost . . . “Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening”

Wild Geese by Mary Oliver

Annabel Lee by Edgar Allan Poe

Because I Could Not Stop for Death - Emily Dickinson :heart:

I met a traveller from an antique land, Who said:

"Two vast and trunkless legs of stone Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand, Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown, And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command, Tell that its sculptor well those passions read Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed:

And on the pedestal these words appear: ‘My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!’

Nothing beside remains. Round the decay Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare The lone and level sands stretch far away."

-Ozymandias, Percy Bysshe Shelley