Here are some Poems I like, mean something to me or are true about life in general:
I have gotten way too many favourite Poems, so this is only a VERY small selection of poems that touched me or I can relate to in some way or another:
THE BLESSED by: William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)
UMHAL called out, bending his head,
Till Dathi came and stood,
With a blink in his eyes, at the cave-mouth,
Between the wind and the wood.
And Cumhal said, bending his knees,
‘I have come by the windy way
To gather the half of your blessedness
And learn to pray when you pray.
I can bring you salmon out of the streams
And heron out of the skies.’
But Dathi folded his hands and smiled
With the secrets of God in his eyes.
And Cumhal saw like a drifting smoke
All manner of blessed souls,
Women and children, young men with books,
And old men with croziers and stoles.
‘Praise God and God’s Mother, Dathi said,
‘For God and God’s Mother have sent
The blessedest souls that walk in the world
To fill your heart with content.’
‘And which is the blessedest,’ Cumhal said,
‘Where all are comely and good?
Is it these that with golden thuribles
Are singing about the wood?’
‘My eyes are blinking,’ Dathi said,
‘With the secrets of God half blind,
But I can see where the wind goes
And follow the way of the wind;
‘And blessedness goes where the wind goes,
And when it is gone we are dead;
I see the blessedest soul in the world
And he nods a drunken head.
‘O blessedness comes in the night and the day
And whither the wise heart knows;
And one has seen in the redness of wine
The Incorruptible Rose,
‘That drowsily drops faint leaves on him
And the sweetness of desire,
While time and the world are ebbing away
In twilights of dew and of fire.’
THE SECOND COMING by: William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)
URNING and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in the sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
Wise Old Owl by: Connie Hinnen Cook
Like the Solomon of fowl
Sat a wise old owl
Perched in a Sycamore tree,
While the moonlight glimmered
And the starlight shimmered,
These words he spoke to me:
"I guess you’ve heard
I’m a wise old bird,
And if wisdom you would find…
Always look for the best
And your life will be blest,
To all others’ faults be blind.
"In this life, I know
You will find it so
That if you think kindly of others,
You’ll soon find that it’s true
They’ll think kindly of you…
Praise your sisters and your brothers!"
You may think me a fool –
Owls don’t talk, as a rule,
But in solemn tone he said:
"Don’t be quick to enact
Words you’ll wish to retract,
Dwell upon the good instead!"
Though I hate to admit it,
I could see, once I did it,
What that wise owl said was true.
Your faults I’ll overlook
‘Cause it says in The Book
What you sow comes back to you!
Now, if you will agree
With what he said to me,
Then my faults you will ignore…
Like that sage bird said
We’ll both come out ahead
If we judge less, and praise more!