I like all poems that have Nantucket at the end of the first line.

The haystack in the floods. William Morris.

Had she come all the way for this
To part at last without a kiss
Yea, had she borne the dirt and rain
That her own eyes might see him slain
Beside the haystack in the floods.....


A long narrative poem that stuck since school.Too long to put here but she chooses her knights death before her own dishonour. Daft bat!!Very graphic and he has his throat cut before her eyes
Its on google in full.


My other fave also long.
The traveller. Walter de la Mare

Is there anybody there? said the traveller
Knocking on the moonlit door
While his horse in the silence
Champed the grasses of the forests ferny floor.


This one is eerie and conveys the silent house in the forest. makes you wonder why he was there and why no reply?/Also on google.

Probably Thomas Gray's "Elegy in a Country Churchyard". "Full many a flower is born to blush unseen and waste its fragrance on the desert air"...and "the path of glory lead but to the grave". "Path of Glory" was a marvelous movie starring Kirk Douglas. Happy Thursday my friend! :) ((hugs))

i find robert frost very inspiring - in particular;
Whose woods these are I think I know. His house is in the village, though; He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer To stop without a farmhouse near Between the woods and frozen lake The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake To ask if there's some mistake. The only other sound's the sweep Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep, But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep.

Hope is a Thing With Feathers
by Emily Dickinson

Hope is a thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings a tune without words
And never stops at all.

And sweetest, in the gale, is heard
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That keeps so many warm.

I’ve heard it in the chilliest land
And on the strangest sea
Yet, never, in extremity
It ask a crumb of me.

This is my choice for the National Poetry Day.

DOVER BEACH
By Matthew Arnold

The sea is calm tonight,
The tide is full, the moon lies fair
Upon the straits; on the French coast the light
Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand,
Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.
Come to the window, sweet is the night air!

Only, from the long line of spray
Where the sea meets the moon-blanched land,
Listen! you hear the grating roar
Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling,
At their return, up the high strand,
Begin, and cease, and then again begin,
With tremulous cadence slow, and bring
The eternal note of sadness in.

Sophocles long ago
Heard it on the Agean, and it brought
Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow
Of human misery; we
Find also in the sound a thought,
Hearing it by this distant northern sea.

The Sea of Faith
Was once, too, at the full, and round earth's shore
Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled.
But now I only hear
Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar,
Retreating, to the breath
Of the night wind, down the vast edges drear
And naked shingles of the world.

Ah, love, let us be true
To one another! for the world, which seems
To lie before us like a land of dreams,
So various, so beautiful, so new,
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night.

I must go down to the sea's again, to the lonely sea and the sky. With a tall ship and a star, to steer her by. If the sea's are rough, I may be sick, then I'll pray, for the voyage to be, very quick.

Bluebird by Charles Bukowski

This is one of my favorites I wrote.

Glory of the Elements

In serenity and quiet,
I hear the distant call.
Of the wild rushing rapids,
At the end of the falls.

The air is crisp and clean,
There’s bark beneath my feet.
The cool mist gently passes by,
As my heart radiates with heat.

Inspiration is at my fingertips,
Guiding me along.
Singing to me sweet notes,
That soon it wont be long.

Before my dreams take flight,
And my thoughts begin to soar.
My imagination is adrift,
In the glory of the great outdoors.

By SoulFire