# My favorite poem



## Jack Garcia (Oct 9, 2009)

This has always been my favorite poem. It's "If--" by Rudyard Kipling, written in 1899.



> *If--*
> 
> If you can keep your head when all about you
> Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
> ...


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## windyhill (Jan 19, 2010)

Ive never read it before, but thats such an amazing poem, I can see why its your favorite


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## The Boggit keeper (Mar 5, 2010)

Super poem, like having a Written Mentor.  
Thought I'd share my favourite poem. It's not as inspirational as " If " and i'm afraid it's a little on the gloomy side but there is just something about it that pierces my poetically uneducated skin!

W.H Auden; " Stop all the clocks "

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.


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## Jemma (Mar 11, 2010)

I do like If and though Stop All the Clocks isn't as positive, it's quite moving :]

I'm afraid my favourite poem isn't quite as high brow but I've had a soft spot for it since primary school. Might be interesting for non-Scots to read :lol: Hint: puddocks are frogs.

The Puddock by John M Caie

A puddock sat by the lochan's brim, 
An' he thocht there was never a puddock like him. 
He sat on his hurdies, he waggled his legs, 
An' cockit his heid as he glowered throu' the seggs. 
The bigsy wee cratur' was feelin' that prood, 
He gapit his mou' an' he croakit oot lood: 
"Gin ye'd a' like tae see a richt puddock," quo' he, 
"Ye'll never, I'll sweer, get a better nor me. 
I've fem'lies an' wives an' a weel-plenished hame, 
Wi' drink for my thrapple an' meat for my wame. 
The lasses aye thocht me a fine strappin' chiel, 
An' I ken I'm a rale bonny singer as weel. 
I'm nae gaun tae blaw, but th' truth I maun tell- 
I believe I'm the verra MacPuddock himsel'."

A heron was hungry an' needin' tae sup, 
Sae he nabbit th' puddock and gollup't him up;
Syne runkled his feathers: "A peer thing," quo' he, 
"But - puddocks is nae fat they eesed tae be."


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## Autumn2005 (Apr 21, 2010)

This is my favorite, because this is how I figure I will grow up. My first mare is in foal now, and due March 2011. Sometimes I think I breed mice to just get my breeding fix more quickly!



> When I am an Old Horsewoman
> 
> When I am an old horsewoman
> I shall wear turquoise and diamonds,
> ...


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## Jack Garcia (Oct 9, 2009)

Living in the horse capital of the world, as I do, I know dozens of women _exactly_ like that! :lol:

That's a great poem -- it describes a situation/person/thing so accurately and so vividly that you might as well be experiencing it directly.


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## StellaLuna (Jun 22, 2010)

I feel stupid now. My favorite poem isn't inspirational or moving!

My November Guest by Robert Frost
My Sorrow, when she's here with me,
Thinks these dark days of autumn rain
Are beautiful as days can be;
She loves the bare, the withered tree;
She walks the sodden pasture lane.

Her pleasure will not let me stay.
She talks and I am fain to list:
She's glad the birds are gone away,
She's glad her simple worsted grady
Is silver now with clinging mist.

The desolate, deserted trees,
The faded earth, the heavy sky,
The beauties she so ryly sees,
She thinks I have no eye for these,
And vexes me for reason why.

Not yesterday I learned to know
The love of bare November days
Before the coming of the snow,
But it were vain to tell he so,
And they are better for her praise.

Anyone else a fan of Frost?


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