Halloween comes on Little Cat Feet

[puppetmaker]

Sorry, I had that poem stuck in my head most of yesterday after I got into a discussion about forms of poetry.

The fog comes
on little cat feet.

It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.

Fog by Carl Sandburg

I have always liked that poem from the first time I heard it. That and TS Elliot's the Wasteland which I first read in college. So what poems do you like?

It is hard to believe that it is less than a week and a half to Halloween. I have a number of things I need to do by the end of this weekend for the Holiday. Including getting a project ready for the Kindergarten party next Friday. I also have to sort the comics that we give away to the kids that night. I want to get rubber ducks for the younger kids rather than candy for the health of everyone.

I am grateful for opportunities to work within my community.

Comments

[crystalsage.livejournal.com]

In deference to Halloween's approach, I've always loved Poe's "The Raven". I had to memorize that in High School.

[1-rhiannon-1.livejournal.com]

I've always been a fan of Poe's work - "The Raven" and "Annabell Lee" in particular. We studied both of those poems in high school & they just sorta stuck with me.

[kittenboo.livejournal.com]

i always loved that poem

and as for the question, my favorite poem is ranier marie rilke's This Is the Creature:

This is the creature there has never been.
They never knew it, and yet, none the less,
they loved the way it moved, its suppleness,
its neck, its very gaze, mild and serene.
Not there, because they loved it, it behaved
as though it were. They always left some space.
And in that clear unpeopled space they saved
it lightly reared its head, with scarce a trace
of not being there. They fed it, not with corn,
but only with the possibility
of being. And that was able to confer
such strength, its brow put forth a horn. One horn.
Whitely it stole up to a maid-to be
within the silver mirror and in her.

[jon-chance.livejournal.com]

I just love the imagery of this poem:


Marginalia
by Richard Wilbur


Things concentrate at the edges; the pond-surface
Is bourne to fish and man and it is spread
In textile scum and damask light, on which
The lily-pads are set; and there are also
Inlaid ruddy twigs, becalmed pine-leaves,
Air-baubles, and the chain mail of froth.

Descending into sleep (as when the night-lift
Falls past a brilliant floor), we glimpse a sublime
Decor and hear, perhaps, a complete music,
But this evades us, as in the night meadows
The crickets' million roundsong dies away
From all advances, rising in every distance.

Our riches are centrifugal; men compose
Daily, unwittingly, their final dreams,
And those are our own voices whose remote
Consummate chorus rides on the whirlpool's rim,
Past which we flog our sails, toward which we
drift,
Plying our trades, in hopes of a good drowning.

[jenny_evergreen]

Baby not allowing me to actually post it, but, in a similar spirit to yours, I think, I love This is just to say by William Carlos Williams. :)

[edith-jones.livejournal.com]

I have always been a huge poetry fan and read a lot of it. Among the poets I admire are William Blake, Gerald Manley Hopkins, G.K. Chesterton, T.S. Eliot, and W.H. Auden. However, my favourite poetry of all is World War I poetry, and my favourite of those is "The Soldier", by Rupert Brooke. (http://www.poetry-online.org/brooke_the_soldier.htm)

Margaret Atwood also writes great poetry.

[amarafox.livejournal.com]

I love almost everything by Shel Silverstein :)

[readinggeek451]

Yesterday upon the stair
I met a man who wasn't there.
He wasn't there again today.
I wish that man would go away.

[alternate last line: I think he's from the CIA]