Inspired by another thread the question is "Who are your favorite poets"?

For me it would be:
Robert Service
Kipling
Poe

You're asking the wrong crowd my friend, unless you know of any racist/church hating poets.

Charlie Hendron
Baxter Black
Waddie Mitchell
Bruce Kiskadoon

I'll admit to not being a real poetry guy, but I do like to read some from time to time. Favorite poets would include Longfellow, Kipling, Browning, Keats and Burns.

I have ran across a few pretty good schit house poets.

Kipling, Frost, and the Bard himself, of course. Chaucer's Canterbury Tales but not much of his other work.

I was an English Lit major in college, but much preferred both later English and American writers. Couldn't stand poets like Shelley.

Robert Service

Whoever wrote Beowulf ( A wind age, a wolf age. )

….and a poem written back in the ‘70’s by an Iroquois (??) tribal member about loneliness:

It’s not as bad as a leaky faucet,
but like the faucet
it has perhaps
been dripping too long.

James McMurtry.

Bob Dylan

Big Stick...

Anonymous

Edna St. Vincent Millay

Frost them Kipling. Like Dylan Thomas as well.

That guy from Nantucket

Tom T. Hall

Robert Service
I can't read his poetry on the Yukon without wanting to visit!

Robert Service

There's strange things done in the midnight sun
by the men that moil for gold
The Arctic trails hold secret tales
That would make your blood run cold
The Northern Lights have seen strange sights
But the strangest they ever did see
Was the night on the marge of Lake LeBarge
I cremated Sam McGee

Andrew Dice Clay.

Henry Gibson...
... Used to recite poetry on Laugh-In.

(Only fellow boomers will remember this.)

Robert Service


A bunch of the boys were whooping it up in the Malamute Saloon
The kid that tended the music box was hitting a ragtime tune
When out of the night, which was forty below, and into the din and the glare
There stumbled a miner, fresh from the creeks, dog dirty and loaded for bear

GMAFB!! I graduated from HS in 1958!!

Recommend Googling and reading:

Ozymandias, Shelley


The Second Coming, Yeats

Robert Service

Donald Maurice Pears Jr.

I tried to think of a poet,
but it was no use.
The only one I could think of,
was Dr. Seuss.

Paul Simon
Bernie Taupin

Aggggggh!!

There once was a man from Nantucket....

A man said to the universe:
“Sir, I exist!”
“However,” replied the universe,
“The fact has not created in me
A sense of obligation.”

Stephen Crane

Joyce Kilmer
Robert Frost
Omar Kyan
Rudyard Kipling
Brenden Behan
Jonathan Swift

A tale told by an idiot,
full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
Wlm Shakespeare

Frost
Emily dickinson
Longfellow
e e Cummings
Siegfried sassoon
Coleridge


I like many individual poems without liking the whole compass of their works

Good one.

Poems: out out. Because I could not wait for death. Ryme if the ancient mariner. The man I shot. Evangeline.
anyone lived in a pretty how town

Left out inadvertently the painter with words, Lawrence Ferlinghetti

"suffering humanity" today might be painted as average Americans drowning in the materialism: "on a freeway fifty lanes wide/ a concrete continent/ spaced with bland billboards/ illustrating imbecile illusions of happiness"
Coney Island of the Mind

always liked W.B. Yeats, especially this simple one…

“Youth and Age”

Much did I rage when young,
Being by the world oppressed,
But now with flattering tongue
It speeds the parting guest.

Wallace McCrae who wrote Reincarnation!

I don’t know. The original was first known as Jack Hall, circa 1719. It evolved through several iterations until the Vietnam era and is now titled Sammy Small. Dos Ringos recorded it 2008.

Don’t recite it at work unless you’re in the military, and drunk.

Jack Kerouac - On The Road


"Nothing behind me, everything ahead of me, as is ever so, on the road."

Thinking about it, I guess that I don't have a favorite poet; I just have favorite poems.

Dr suess

Elizabeth Walton

Mary had a little lamb
His feet was black as soot
And everywhere that Mary went
His sooty foot he put.

That's as poetic as I get , unless you count John Prine as a poet.

Robert Service
Robert Frost
Edgar Allen Poe
Rudyard Kipling
and a bunch of songwriters living and dying in 3/4 time

“A promise made is a debt unpaid”. Robert Service
Words to live by if you’re a man of your word and handshake deals.

Ulysses
BY ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON

It little profits that an idle king,
By this still hearth, among these barren crags,
Match'd with an aged wife, I mete and dole
Unequal laws unto a savage race,
That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.
I cannot rest from travel: I will drink
Life to the lees: All times I have enjoy'd
Greatly, have suffer'd greatly, both with those
That loved me, and alone, on shore, and when
Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades
Vext the dim sea: I am become a name;
For always roaming with a hungry heart
Much have I seen and known; cities of men
And manners, climates, councils, governments,
Myself not least, but honour'd of them all;
And drunk delight of battle with my peers,
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.
I am a part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethro'
Gleams that untravell'd world whose margin fades
For ever and forever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use!
As tho' to breathe were life! Life piled on life
Were all too little, and of one to me
Little remains: but every hour is saved
From that eternal silence, something more,
A bringer of new things; and vile it were
For some three suns to store and hoard myself,
And this gray spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.

This is my son, mine own Telemachus,
To whom I leave the sceptre and the isle,—
Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfil
This labour, by slow prudence to make mild
A rugged people, and thro' soft degrees
Subdue them to the useful and the good.
Most blameless is he, centred in the sphere
Of common duties, decent not to fail
In offices of tenderness, and pay
Meet adoration to my household gods,
When I am gone. He works his work, I mine.

There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail:
There gloom the dark, broad seas. My mariners,
Souls that have toil'd, and wrought, and thought with me—
That ever with a frolic welcome took
The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed
Free hearts, free foreheads—you and I are old;
Old age hath yet his honour and his toil;
Death closes all: but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:
The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends,
'T is not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

Ice Cube

Slim you aint changed very much!!

Kipling was mentioned in the OP.

As far as my favorites:
Kipling
Homer
Virgil
Dante

Maybe not in that order. Every man should read Homer and Virgil.

George Carlin
Andrew Dice Clay
Richard Pryor

The Raven ~ Edgar Allen Poe

I have clinched and closed with the naked north
I have learned to defy and defend
Shoulder to shoulder we have fought it out
Yet the wild must win in the end

Robert Service
From a Yukon Jack ad

No!

Shel Silverstein

A Boy Named Sue!

Cash made it famous!

Little Johnny.

Christopher Robin, Christopher Schmobin
A bear has got to eat
(Haiku to Pooh Bear)

I have the collected works of Robert Service on my nightstand. My father gave it to me 40 years ago. I actually read a little to the grandkids last month.

Poe and Kipling are also on my list, plus Robert Frost.

Ogden Nash

The trouble with a kitten is that eventually it becomes a cat.

In high school we all had to do a reading of a favorite in our literature class. I did Paul Revere. Near all of us went through pages of boring material. The kid that did the above also got an A even though he did not have to read his material. The only true genius in our class.

He had a home a few miles from me in the Florida Keys. Don't know if he was a full time resident or not, but his front yard was always good for a chuckle or three.



https://www.cbsnews.com/miami/news/grinch-speeding-drivers-onions-tickets-florida-keys/

Tyger Tyger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

William Blake
Robert Service
Baxter Black

When you see the southern cross for the first time
You understand now why you came this way
'Cause the truth you might be runnin' from is so small
But it's as big as the promise
The promise of a comin' day
So I'm sailing for tomorrow, my dreams are a-dyin'
And my love is an anchor tied to you
Tied with a silver chain
I have my ship and all her flags are a-flyin'
She is all that I have left, and music is her name

Stills, Curtis, and Curtis



There are others, but my memory isn't as sharp as it once was.

I do like ‘The Road Not Taken’ by Robert Frost. The road "less traveled" symbolizes the path of nonconformity.

Meeting at Night
BY ROBERT BROWNING

The grey sea and the long black land;
And the yellow half-moon large and low;
And the startled little waves that leap
In fiery ringlets from their sleep,
As I gain the cove with pushing prow,
And quench its speed i' the slushy sand.


Then a mile of warm sea-scented beach;
Three fields to cross till a farm appears;
A tap at the pane, the quick sharp scratch
And blue spurt of a lighted match,
And a voice less loud, thro' its joys and fears,
Than the two hearts beating each to each!

E. E. Cummings, hands down.

Or perhaps
e.

(e. (cumm)
ing

s)



Was introduced to this one in 11th grade, I thought it was the coolest and most nihilistic poem I'd ever read:

[Buffalo Bill 's]
By E. E. Cummings
Buffalo Bill ’s
defunct
who used to
ride a watersmooth-silver
stallion
and break onetwothreefourfive pigeonsjustlikethat
Jesus

he was a handsome man
and what i want to know is
how do you like your blue-eyed boy
Mister Death

I'm surprised that John Milton hasn't been mentioned yet.

Alfred, Lord Tennyson:
"Theirs but to do and die. Into the valley of Death. Rode the six hundred."

and Bob Nolan
"Old Dan and I with throats burned dry
And souls that cry for water"

ETA: Dang, I almost forgot Homer

Longfellow for one, as he is a distant relative and his poem the blacksmith was about another relative.

Yeats, The Second Coming. T.S. Elliot. Some Wallace Stevens and Dylan Thomas.

Jim Harrison

Charles Bukowski

Her panties
My soul
A bit of [bleep] on each

Robert Frost was no real poet. But he was popularized for some reason.

Lol, Charles Manson

A Poem About An Old Prison Man

Waiting on Death Row
People coming in overalls
Taking me to the gas chamber
Scuffling of feet
They took him down the hallway
Feeling everyone's heartbeat
The central control of the soul
Batons and retro-tons
Ingrown toenails
One time all around you
All round you, bump-bump
Save my air, save my air
My air, my air
Air, water, trees
Machines eating the night
Energy moving
Nuclear fires
Burning reactors on my gate
Fires of hell are burning
Come home
Can you see
Can you say
That you say
That you really love this place?

I have tried to read poetry a few times. It just isn't enjoyable at all. I don't like any poets.

any rumi or rubaiyat khayyam fans?

Dave Mustaine

prophetic poetry from '88


A cockroach in the concrete, courthouse tan and beady eyes
A slouch with fallen arches, purging truths into great lies
A little man with a big eraser, changing history
Procedures that he's programmed to, all he hears and sees
Altering the facts and figures, events and every issue
Make a person disappear, and no one will ever miss you
Rewrites every story, every poem that ever was
Eliminates incompetence, and those who break the laws
Follow the instructions of the New Ways' Evil Book of Rules
Replacing rights with wrongs, the files and records in the schools
You say you've got the answers, well who asked you anyway?
Ever think maybe it was meant to be this way?
Don't try to fool us, we know the worst is yet to come
And I believe my kingdom will come

'The world is God's pure mirror,
To eyes when free within ...'

Rumi

I think I remember that one------how does the rest of it go ??

Nikki Finney

I don't often either.

In High School, about 1972, several of us would gather in our Library and listen to EA Poe on vinyl. We were intrigued at the time, being all of fifteen years old.

Recently I picked up "The complete works of Poe". OMG, what in the hell was wrong with our adolescent selves. That schitt sucks donkey balls.

Morbid and depressing does not begin to describe Poe's writing.

Here I sit,
all broken hearted.

Paid a dime............

My maternal grandfather passed when I was eleven. But the thing I remember he bequeathed to me was an introduction to Robert W. Service, Jack London, and Rudyard Kipling.


Grin

If you're up against a bruiser and you're getting knocked about —
Grin.
If you're feeling pretty groggy, and you're licked beyond a doubt —
Grin.

Don't let him see you're funking, let him know with every clout,
Though your face is battered to a pulp, your blooming heart is stout;
Just stand upon your pins until the beggar knocks you out —
And grin.

This life's a bally battle, and the same advice holds true
Of grin.
If you're up against it badly, then it's only one on you,
So grin.

If the future's black as thunder, don't let people see you're blue;
Just cultivate a cast-iron smile of joy the whole day through;
If they call you "Little Sunshine", wish that THEY'D no troubles, too —
You may — grin.

Rise up in the morning with the will that, smooth or rough,
You'll grin.
Sink to sleep at midnight, and although you're feeling tough,
Yet grin.

There's nothing gained by whining, and you're not that kind of stuff;
You're a fighter from away back, and you WON'T take a rebuff;
Your trouble is that you don't know when you have had enough —
Don't give in.

If Fate should down you, just get up and take another cuff;
You may bank on it that there is no philosophy like bluff,
And grin.


ya!

GWB

And one that will stand any young/old man in good stead!

If, by Rudyard Kipling....

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

ya!

GWB

I liked it when Roger Whitaker sang it.

There once was a man from Nantucket
There was an old man of Nantucket
Who kept all his cash in a bucket

His daughter named Nan, ran away with a man
And as for the bucket - Nan Tucket.

his dick was so large he could suck it.

Yes, read a couple of books of Rumi's poetry about 15-16 years ago and enjoyed them very much, they were part of a series of books covering an arc of religions through China, India, the Middle East, Israel and Europe.

Always really liked his use of the word "Friend" in referring to the cosmic being - "the friend".

this is a mysterious poem by Khayyam :

An old man sadly laments ~ "I have no place to go."

Then smiles and says ~ "I've already been there."

have you noticed 100% of poets are men BUT women take 100% credits for poetry ?

I wonder if there is any truth to this statistic?

How many female poets are there?
Poet gender statistics

62.2% of poets are women and 37.8% of poets are men.

I once knew a hermit named Dave,
Who kept a dead whore in his cave.
She was missing a tit and smelled like chit,
But think of the money he saved.

😂🤣

Seriously. .???
Poetry?

Turn in your man cards .

ee cummings (his classical sonnets have equals, but none better), and blank verse is unsurpassed.
ferlinghetti
homer
shelley
burns
stevens

My great aunt Edna...

My candle burns at both ends;
It will not last the night;
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends—
It gives a lovely light.

Frank Baum

Charles Perrault

Thomas Ravenscroft


WS

Robert Frost
Edgar Allen Poe

Got pissed off and s hit in a bucket....