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!


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