What poem piece sums your outlook on life?

[MissAlice]

I would say this piece from Emily Dickinson would describe how I feel when it comes to admiration both publicly and alone.


I'm Nobody! Who are you?
Are you – Nobody – too?
Then there's a pair of us?
Don't tell! they'd advertise – you know!

How dreary – to be – Somebody!
How public – like a Frog –
To tell one's name – the livelong June –
To an admiring Bog!

 

[Sunstone]

I suppose every poem I write is in one way or another an outlook on life.

This one is called, "Throw Your Rockets Far". If it's about anything, it's about our evolutionary roots in the distant past, and about how human nature traces way back into ages remote from us in time, but still in some way present in us:

I shall not tell you Aaron at eight
Somewhere we walk in the yellow grass;
The sky huge, but our feet owning each step.
Somewhere we hear the shorebird’s cry
From a beach in Africa we never left.
Somewhere we are shaman, warrior, gatherer,
Women and men intimate with our past.
No, I shall not tell you Aaron at eight
What at eight you simply feel
On your lawn at dusk when you throw a bottle rocket
With a warrior’s grace — and hard at the moon.

 

[Sunstone]

Some people search for meaning and never seem to find any meaning that satisfies them. Paula was a friend of mine who I thought was a bit like that.


Paula kissed
Soft as the rustle of winter grasses

But she couldn’t find where the wind
Eddies among the rocks in winter,
And she was exposed.

Inside her were enormous bands stretched across starlight
And hung on eagle’s cries
That brittled and snapped in all her loneliness,
Though at the last she got religion.

Was that when she knew
She wouldn’t be coming back?

At Andersonville, the soldiers
Died for lack of salt
Which could not be dug from the red clays of their prison,
Nor provided by their captors.

Some in anguish
Tore the word “salt” from their Bibles
And ate the word.

And what were they
But for salt?

And what was Paula
But for love?

 

[Gjallarhorn]

O man! Take heed!
What saith deep midnight, indeed?
"I lay asleep, asleep—
I waked from my deep dream.
The world is deep,
And deeper than even day may dream
.Deep is its woe—
Joy— deeper yet than woe is she:
Saith woe: 'Hence! Go!
'Yet joy would have eternity,
—Profound, profound eternity!"

 

[no-body]

What a piece of work is a man! How noble in
Reason! how infinite in faculties! in form and moving
how express and admirable! In action how like an Angel!
in apprehension how like a god! the beauty of the
world! the paragon of animals! and yet to me, what is
this quintessence of dust? Man delights not me; no,
nor Woman neither -Hamlet Act II, Scene ii

 

[sandandfoam]

Yeats expresses my outlook perfectly

For the good are always the merry,
Save by an evil chance,
And the merry love the fiddle
And the merry love to dance:

from here:-

[SIZE=+0]The Fiddler of Dooney[/SIZE]


WHEN I play on my fiddle in Dooney,
Folk dance like a wave of the sea;
My cousin is priest in Kilvarnet,
My brother in Moharabuiee.


I passed my brother and cousin:
They read in their books of prayer;
I read in my book of songs
I bought at the Sligo fair.


When we come at the end of time,
To Peter sitting in state,
He will smile on the three old spirits,
But call me first through the gate;


For the good are always the merry,
Save by an evil chance,
And the merry love the fiddle
And the merry love to dance:


And when the folk there spy me,
They will all come up to me,
With ‘Here is the fiddler of Dooney!’
And dance like a wave of the sea.

 

[Storm]

If any one poem sums me up, it's my own Canticle, but even that falls short.

I tend to favor snippets over full pieces.

 

[Gjallarhorn]

Found a better one:

Trust in Chaos

Chaos comes in many flavors, we can name a few.
Lying past imagination easily in view.
Chaos molds the mountain ranges, shapes the puffy clouds,
Synchronizes water dribbles, harmonizes crowds.
We used to think it merely chance, it's obviously more.
No simple die can simulate the waves upon a shore.
Our best electric brains are just beginning to reveal
The ways of nature's wildness, the randomness of real.
They tell us of the wires and wheels in back of nature's mask
Our very souls are there, who knows what questions we can ask?
We may not like the answers though, we love to find a cause
And think chaos a failure in perceiving nature's laws.
But what are laws of chemistry if molecules lie still,
Or move in any ordered way? Sans chaos, they are nil.
The coalescence of the Earth and evolution's dance
Could only have occurred within a universe of chance.
Our favorite things; love, commerce, art, impossible without
Surprise and unexpectedness, uncertainty and doubt.
So chaos is the highest law encompassing the rest.
It locates stars within the sky and twigs within a nest
And cells within a human brain, and words within a poem.
I laugh and love in chaos now, reality is home.

Harry Reid 1987

 

[gurthbruins]

And all things seem only one
In the universal sun.

- Percy Bysshe Shelley

 

[Jayhawker Soule]

anyone lived in a pretty how town
(with up so floating many bells down)
spring summer autumn winter
he sang his didn't he danced his did.

Women and men (both little and small)
cared for anyone not at all
they sowed their isn't they reaped their same
sun moon stars rain

children guessed (but only a few
and down they forgot as up they grew
autumn winter spring summer)
that noone loved him more by more

when by now and tree by leaf
she laughed his joy she cried his grief
bird by snow and stir by still
anyone's any was all to her

someones married their everyones
laughed their cryings and did their dance
(sleep wake hope and then)they
said their nevers they slept their dream

stars rain sun moon
(and only the snow can begin to explain
how children are apt to forget to remember
with up so floating many bells down)

one day anyone died i guess
(and noone stooped to kiss his face)
busy folk buried them side by side
little by little and was by was

all by all and deep by deep
and more by more they dream their sleep
noone and anyone earth by april
with by spirit and if by yes.

Women and men (both dong and ding)
summer autumn winter spring
reaped their sowing and went their came
sun moon stars rain

e e cummings​

 

[9-10ths_Penguin]

This sums up my outlook on a good day:

Yet all experience is an arch wherethrough
Gleams that untraveled world whose margin fades
Forever and forever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end.
To rust unburnished, not to shine in use!
As though to breathe were life!

- Ulysses, Tennyson

 

[Falvlun]

Sand and Foam by Kahlil Gibran

The opening seems like it is speaking directly to me, and I love the insights throughout.

I AM FOREVER walking upon these shores,
Betwixt the sand and the foam,
The high tide will erase my foot-prints,
And the wind will blow away the foam.
But the sea and the shore will remain
Forever.

My signature is from this too; it fits how I tend to view things to a tee.

 

[Kathryn]

Of my own writings, this is my favorite:

​

Goodbye Me​

​

Foggy rear window,
Cold black vinyl.
I live dangerously, slipping from the bite of the belt.
I rest my small chin on the scratchy surface
And frantically clear the glass.
We begin to move.

“Goodbye, house,” my parents call out cheerfully.
“Goodbye, lake! Goodbye, Newport News!
Goodbye, Virginia!”
My father bursts into jovial, Bob Hope song:
“Thanks…for the memories…”
My mother, without a backward glance,
Dons her glasses and opens a magazine.

My starving eyes gobble up the driveway
And feast upon the bricks, the shutters,
The windows…the windows…
The surprised house stares back
Like a mother deserted.
Empty of all.
Empty of me.
Empty me.

My little yellow room will not welcome me again.
My cheeks won’t press against that plush carpet.
No more warm feet down the cool, dark hall.
My hair will not float like seaweed above me
In that deep, shining tub.

The car picks up speed and the road curves.
With centrifugal force, the house is torn from my grasp.
Kerry Lake, Kerry Lake Drive,
5-1-5 Kerry Lake Drive – how I loved the cadence of it.
But now the song tilts off center
And rolls in my heart like a discordant chorus of drums.

No sweet smelling, tanned and tousled comrades
Will turn that corner calling my name ever again.
They are still asleep in their little beds
In their familiar, happy houses,
Fringed eyes shut, blonde lashes traced against freckled cheeks,
Slow breaths from deep within…
I breathe with them, one last time,
And my breath fogs the window.

In a panic, I rub the cold glass.
My mind screams, “I will never be here again! I am gone – I am gone!”
No parades line the curb.
No flags at half mast in the schoolyard.
No importance to my leaving. I’m just passing through.

We turn onto the highway and my parents chirp together,
“Buckle up, kiddos!”
The familiar weight of resignation falls upon me.
I turn in the seat and restrain myself.
My brother sighs and we steal a glance at each other,
Then quickly, quickly turn away.
If one of us begins to cry, will we ever be able to stop?
Push it down, close it up, leave it behind, look ahead.
Chin up.

My gaze burns the black vinyl expanse in front of me.
My nostrils flare with each hot, measured breath.
Impotent energy surges through my small body
And fills the confining space.
“Melanie!” my mother exclaims, turning her regal head
And arching one perfect eyebrow above the sleek glasses,
“Stop kicking the back of this seat!”

Copyright 1996

 

[Falvlun]

Or, should you prefer a personal touch:

In pursuit of fruit

O! to lick my lips of sticky sweet
and sink my teeth in fruity meat!
I take a break from running day
and let my other come out to play
My normal fare is full of sense
homemade wheat and present tense
It fills me up and I'm content
but...
I yearn to pluck the fruit from tree
and drown myself in honeyed sea
A grape of faith from heaven's vine
will make for me a dangerous wine
I'd skip and laugh at mortal fact
I'd follow the feet of Kerouac
My freedom won, no turning back
and...
Waking I would find a dream
where moments before a dawning beamed
Decreed by nature to desire more
but bound by mind to reason core
My dueling essence a constant brute
But phauns still play their pretty flutes
For me in my pursuit of fruit

 

[Kathryn]

Or, should you prefer a personal touch:

In pursuit of fruit

O! to lick my lips of sticky sweet
and sink my teeth in fruity meat!
I take a break from running day
and let my other come out to play
My normal fare is full of sense
homemade wheat and present tense
It fills me up and I'm content
but...
I yearn to pluck the fruit from tree
and drown myself in honeyed sea
A grape of faith from heaven's vine
will make for me a dangerous wine
I'd skip and laugh at mortal fact
I'd follow the feet of Kerouac
My freedom won, no turning back
and...
Waking I would find a dream
where moments before a dawning beamed
Decreed by nature to desire more
but bound by mind to reason core
My dueling essence a constant brute
But phauns still play their pretty flutes
For me in my pursuit of fruit

What an excellent piece of work - delectable! I've bolded my favorite lines.

Wow. I love it.

 

[Kathryn]

I suppose every poem I write is in one way or another an outlook on life.

This one is called, "Throw Your Rockets Far". If it's about anything, it's about our evolutionary roots in the distant past, and about how human nature traces way back into ages remote from us in time, but still in some way present in us:

I shall not tell you Aaron at eight
Somewhere we walk in the yellow grass;
The sky huge, but our feet owning each step.
Somewhere we hear the shorebird’s cry
From a beach in Africa we never left.
Somewhere we are shaman, warrior, gatherer,
Women and men intimate with our past.
No, I shall not tell you Aaron at eight
What at eight you simply feel
On your lawn at dusk when you throw a bottle rocket
With a warrior’s grace — and hard at the moon.

I really like this - I've bolded my favorite lines.

 

[Kathryn]

K, I have one more.

This isn't really my outlook on life, but it IS a glimpse into my psyche.

My dad gave me one of the best compliments of my life. He told me the other day that out of ALL the poems he's ever read, this one is his favorite. Now - he's obviously biased, but it made me feel good nonetheless.

I wrote this poem a few years ago when my family was gathered together for the holidays. We often have poetry contests, where we each write a theme or a word on a piece of paper, draw one each out of a hat, and then we have ten minutes to write a poem.
-
I drew the word "fairy."

Dark Around the Edges



I like faerie tales

With trolls under bridges,

With elves in the firelight

And jagged mountain ridges.




I like the centaurs

And the spirits in the trees,

Dragon lairs and dungeons

And a set of magic keys.​

I like things scary

But just a little bit…​

Tall dark archways​

With one lantern lit.




Echoes in the attic,

Shadows on the wall,

Places where the stones are slick

And one might fall.




A faerie tale is better

If it’s dark around the edges,

If the clammy floor is cold

And there’s a rustling in the hedges.





If the curtained bed is tall

And the fire is burning low,

Then the mystery grows deeper

As the cold winds blow.​

 

[Shia Islam]

English poetry for me mean this , and only this

TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth; ********5
*
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same, ********10
*
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back. ********15
*
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference. ********20

By Robert Frost
*

 

[Trey of Diamonds]

“The pessimist complains about the wind;
the optimist expects it to change;
the realist adjusts the sails.”
~ William Arthur Ward

 

[Falvlun]

I wrote this poem a few years ago when my family was gathered together for the holidays. We often have poetry contests, where we each write a theme or a word on a piece of paper, draw one each out of a hat, and then we have ten minutes to write a poem.

sounds like a fun game. I'll have to remember it for cozy gatherings. Also, thanks for the kind words.

I like things scary

But just a little bit…

Tall dark archways

With one lantern lit.

This has a strong LotR feel, which naturally endears me to it.

This was my favorite stanza though, particularly the last two lines. The image is strong, visceral. And the feeling is mutual.