Today is poem in your pocket day so quick!! Put your favorite poem up!

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night
By Dylan Thomas

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

My own:


<3

I'm a little pally short and stout
Here is my hammer here is my mount
When I get all angry hear me shout
Pop a bubble and hearth out!


umm I think that's how it goes. That's gotta be a close second anyways lol

Haha, nice.
Sounds like a dwarf... *raises a pint of brewfest brew*

I don't like it.

@People: Please don't turn this into a spam fest topic.

someone else on this forum has got to have another poem to share...I like poems.

Meh...

What good are words,
When you already know,
The dirt we were planted in,
From which we would grow.

What good are words,
When it seems like a shame,
To see others go home,
And we can’t do the same.

What good are words,
When I see you in pain,
And I try to relate,
But only in vain.

What good are words,
After all that you’ve done,
To supply me with choices,
And leave yourself none.

What good are words,
When it doesn’t seem fair,
To hurt in this world,
And you can’t make it care.

What good are words,
When I hope that I’ve shown,
If it gets cold outside,
You won’t be alone.

You don't have to like it, I do though, so shh.
And it was a reply, not spam. Jeez.

A stashed mustache must remain stashed until mushed.

I might just be really sleepy, but this is the funniest sentence I've ever heard right now.

You're very sleepy

How many stars would a starcraft craft if a starcraft could craft stars?

Are you deaf?

A day late.. damnit

Mending Wall

Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,
And spills the upper boulders in the sun,
And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.
The work of hunters is another thing:
I have come after them and made repair
Where they have left not one stone on a stone,
But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,
To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,
No one has seen them made or heard them made,
But at spring mending-time we find them there.
I let my neighbor know beyond the hill;
And on a day we meet to walk the line
And set the wall between us once again.
We keep the wall between us as we go.
To each the boulders that have fallen to each.
And some are loaves and some so nearly balls
We have to use a spell to make them balance:
'Stay where you are until our backs are turned!'
We wear our fingers rough with handling them.
Oh, just another kind of out-door game,
One on a side. It comes to little more:
There where it is we do not need the wall:
He is all pine and I am apple orchard.
My apple trees will never get across
And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.
He only says, 'Good fences make good neighbors'.
Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder
If I could put a notion in his head:
'Why do they make good neighbors? Isn't it
Where there are cows?
But here there are no cows.
Before I built a wall I'd ask to know
What I was walling in or walling out,
And to whom I was like to give offence.
Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
That wants it down.' I could say 'Elves' to him,
But it's not elves exactly, and I'd rather
He said it for himself. I see him there
Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top
In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.
He moves in darkness as it seems to me~
Not of woods only and the shade of trees.
He will not go behind his father's saying,
And he likes having thought of it so well
He says again, "Good fences make good neighbors."

Robert Frost