My favorite poem is Daffodils by William Wordsworth.
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.
Continous as the stars that shine and twinkle on the milky way, They stretched in never ending line, across 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 i 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 my heart with pleasure fills and dances with the Daffodils.

I have two as my favourite... THE NEGRO SPEAKS OF RIVERS by Langston Hughes and ONCE UPON A TIME by Gabriel Okara... I can't quote the first one but the second can be quoted in in my sleep.
ONCE UPON A TIME.
Once upon a time, son,
they used to laugh with their hearts
and laugh with their eyes:
but now they only laugh with their teeth,
while their ice-block-cold eyes
search behind my shadow.
There was a time indeed
they used to shake hands with their hearts:
but that’s gone, son.
Now they shake hands without hearts
while their left hands search
my empty pockets.
‘Feel at home’ ‘Come again’:
they say, and when I come
again and feel
at home, once, twice,
there will be no thrice
for then I find doors shut on me.
So I have learned many things, son.
I have learned to wear many faces
like dresses, homeface,
officeface, streetface, hostface,
cocktailface, with all their conforming smiles
like a fixed portrait smile.
And I have learned too
to laugh with only my teeth
and shake hands without my heart.
I have also learned to say,’Goodbye’,
when I mean ‘Good-riddance’:
to say ‘Glad to meet you’,
without being glad; and to say ‘It’s been
nice talking to you after being bored.
But believe me, son.
I want to be what I used to be
when I was like you. I want
to unlearn all these muting things.
Most of all, I want to relearn
how to laugh, for my laugh in the mirror
shows only my teeth like a snake’s bare fangs
So show me, son,
how to laugh, show me how
I used to laugh and smile
once upon a time when I was like you.

LaJose78:
My favorite poem is Daffodils by William Wordsworth.

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.

Continous as the stars that shine and twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never ending line, across 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 i 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 my heart with pleasure fills and dances with the Daffodils.

I love Wordsworth series... He is a romantic along with Keats and Donne... Daffodils is a beautiful piece. It was interesting when I was teaching my students some months ago. AND SO IT CAME TO PASS is also Cool.

Mine is: A naughty boy by John Keats.

There was a naughty boy, and a naughty boy was he,
He ran away to Scotland, the people for to see-
There he found,
That the ground
was as hard,
That a yard
was as long,
That a song
was as merry,
That a cherry
was as red,
That lead
Was as weighty,
That fourscore
was as eighty,
That a door
was as wooden
As in England-
So he stood in his shoes
And he wondered,
He wondered,
He stood in his
Shoes and he wondered.

My favorite is The Second Coming! by Y. B. yeast.

Do I have a favorite poem? I don't think so. I just love poetry, no matter the type.

I have many favorite poems but I'll just mention one here because I was asked for poem, not poems.

And that is the witty, super-funny but interesting poem. It is Television by Roald Dahl, and thus it goes:

The most important thing we've learned,
So far as children are concerned,
Is never, NEVER, NEVER let
Them near your television set --
Or better still, just don't install
The idiotic thing at all.
In almost every house we've been,
We've watched them gaping at the screen.
They loll and slop and lounge about,
And stare until their eyes pop out.
(Last week in someone's place we saw
A dozen eyeballs on the floor.)
They sit and stare and stare and sit
Until they're hypnotised by it,
Until they're absolutely drunk
With all that shocking ghastly junk.
Oh yes, we know it keeps them still,
They don't climb out the window sill,
They never fight or kick or punch,
They leave you free to cook the lunch
And wash the dishes in the sink --
But did you ever stop to think,
To wonder just exactly what
This does to your beloved tot?
IT ROTS THE SENSE IN THE HEAD!
IT KILLS IMAGINATION DEAD!
IT CLOGS AND CLUTTERS UP THE MIND!
IT MAKES A CHILD SO DULL AND BLIND
HE CAN NO LONGER UNDERSTAND
A FANTASY, A FAIRYLAND!
HIS BRAIN BECOMES AS SOFT AS CHEESE!
HIS POWERS OF THINKING RUST AND FREEZE!
HE CANNOT THINK -- HE ONLY SEES!
'All right!' you'll cry. 'All right!' you'll say,
'But if we take the set away,
What shall we do to entertain
Our darling children? Please explain!'
We'll answer this by asking you,
'What used the darling ones to do?
'How used they keep themselves contented
Before this monster was invented?'
Have you forgotten? Don't you know?
We'll say it very loud and slow:
THEY ... USED ... TO ... READ! They'd READ and READ,
AND READ and READ, and then proceed
To READ some more. Great Scott! Gadzooks!
One half their lives was reading books!
The nursery shelves held books galore!
Books cluttered up the nursery floor!
And in the bedroom, by the bed,
More books were waiting to be read!
Such wondrous, fine, fantastic tales
Of dragons, gypsies, queens, and whales
And treasure isles, and distant shores
Where smugglers rowed with muffled oars,
And pirates wearing purple pants,
And sailing ships and elephants,
And cannibals crouching 'round the pot,
Stirring away at something hot.
(It smells so good, what can it be?
Good gracious, it's Penelope.)
The younger ones had Beatrix Potter
With Mr. Tod, the dirty rotter,
And Squirrel Nutkin, Pigling Bland,
And Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle and-
Just How The Camel Got His Hump,
And How the Monkey Lost His Rump,
And Mr. Toad, and bless my soul,
There's Mr. Rat and Mr. Mole-
Oh, books, what books they used to know,
Those children living long ago!
So please, oh please, we beg, we pray,
Go throw your TV set away,
And in its place you can install
A lovely bookshelf on the wall.
Then fill the shelves with lots of books,
Ignoring all the dirty looks,
The screams and yells, the bites and kicks,
And children hitting you with sticks-
Fear not, because we promise you
That, in about a week or two
Of having nothing else to do,
They'll now begin to feel the need
Of having something to read.
And once they start -- oh boy, oh boy!
You watch the slowly growing joy
That fills their hearts. They'll grow so keen
They'll wonder what they'd ever seen
In that ridiculous machine,
That nauseating, foul, unclean,
Repulsive television screen!
And later, each and every kid
Will love you more for what you did.

Omotayor123:
My favorite is Things fall apart by Y. B. yeast.

And you think the man will want to forgive you in his grave?

opeaceo:
Mine is: A naughty boy by John Keats.

There was a naughty boy, and a naughty boy was he,
He ran away to Scotland, the people for to see-
There he found,
That the ground
was as hard,
That a yard
was as long,
That a song
was as merry,
That a cherry
was as red,
That lead
Was as weighty,
That fourscore
was as eighty,
That a door
was as wooden
As in England-
So he stood in his shoes
And he wondered,
He wondered,
He stood in his
Shoes and he wondered.

what a funny poem up there

opeaceo:
Mine is: A naughty boy by John Keats.
There was a naughty boy, and a naughty boy was he, He ran away to Scotland, the people for to see- There he found, That the ground was as hard, That a yard was as long, That a song was as merry, That a cherry was as red, That lead Was as weighty, That fourscore was as eighty, That a door was as wooden As in England- So he stood in his shoes And he wondered, He wondered, He stood in his Shoes and he wondered.

Nice Choice... You like Elizabethan poems?

Omotayor123:
My favorite is Things fall apart by Y. B. yeast.

Yeast did well on that... Best thing Ireland has yet produced...

Freemanan:
Yeast did well on that... Best thing Ireland has yet produced...

It's Yeats, not Yeast. Was that a typo?

llaykorn:

It's Yeats, not Yeast. Was that a typo?

GO Keyboard is a bytch... It's a typo... Thanks Mate...

Freemanan:

GO Keyboard is a bytch... It's a typo... Thanks Mate...

Are you aware too that the poem's title isn't really 'Things Fall Apart'? As Omotayor123 thought? The title is: The Second Coming. You're welcome.

llaykorn:


Are you aware too that the poem's title isn't really 'Things Fall Apart'? As Omotayor123 thought? The title is: The Second Coming. You're welcome.

Common mistake... It's usually being referred to Things Fall Apart because of It's influence on Achebe's greatest work... You can understand the Mistake.

Freemanan:

Common mistake... It's usually being referred to Things Fall Apart because of It's influence on Achebe's greatest work... You can understand the Mistake.

Yes, I sure do, sir.


And, where did you get your name from? Does it represent something?

llaykorn:

Yes, I sure do, sir.

And, where did you get your name from? Does it represent something?

A name is a name Mate...

Freemanan:
A name is a name Mate...

A name is not always just a name.

llaykorn:

A name is not always just a name.

I stand corrected.... But mine is just a name...

llaykorn:


Are you aware too that the poem's title isn't really 'Things Fall Apart'? As Omotayor123 thought? The title is: The Second Coming. You're welcome.

Oh true... My mistake! (Abeg no tell my literature teacher ooo)

Freemanan:

Nice Choice... You like Elizabethan poems?

Yes I do, there's one I really love "what is our life"? I've forgotten the poet that wrote that. That poem sums up life in just few sentences, it is a classic for me.

LaJose78:

what a funny poem up there

yes ooo, it has 3 or 4 verses, but I was forced to cram this particular verse in primary school.

opeaceo:

Yes I do, there's one I really love "what is our life"? I've forgotten the poet that wrote that. That poem sums up life in just few sentences, it is a classic for me.

Wow... I have that poem.... It was written by Walter Raleigh..... And I always saw it as a normal poem. Maybe I will pit more eye on it so as to understand it well.... Good to know WE have a Poem connoisseur here...

Mine is Maya Angelou's Still I Rise. Poor me, can't recite it offhand.

Freemanan:

Wow... I have that poem.... It was written by Walter Raleigh..... And I always saw it as a normal poem. Maybe I will pit more eye on it so as to understand it well.... Good to know WE have a Poem connoisseur here...

I've not gotten to that stage yet.

Ghost01:
Mine is Maya Angelou's Still I Rise. Poor me, can't recite it offhand.

lol, Simple reason: Laziness.

opeaceo:


lol, Simple reason: Laziness.

Take it:

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may tread me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

Ghost01:
Take it:
You may write me down in history With your bitter, twisted lies, You may tread me in the very dirt But still, like dust, I'll rise.
Does my sassiness upset you? Why are you beset with gloom? 'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells Pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns, With the certainty of tides, Just like hopes springing high, Still I'll rise.
Did you want to see me broken? Bowed head and lowered eyes? Shoulders falling down like teardrops. Weakened by my soulful cries.
Does my haughtiness offend you? Don't you take it awful hard 'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines Diggin' in my own back yard.
You may shoot me with your words, You may cut me with your eyes, You may kill me with your hatefulness, But still, like air, I'll rise.
Does my sexiness upset you? Does it come as a surprise That I dance like I've got diamonds At the meeting of my thighs?
Out of the huts of history's shame I rise Up from a past that's rooted in pain I rise I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide, Welling and swelling I bear in the tide. Leaving behind nights of terror and fear I rise Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear I rise Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave, I am the dream and the hope of the slave. I rise I rise I rise.

after using Google shey

opeaceo:


after using Google shey

You know what they say, "Google is your friend."