Your favorite poem

[Skycow 0]

Ikel Me, Pickle Me, Tickle Me Too


Ikel Me, Pickle Me, Tickle Me too
Went for a ride in a flying shoe
"Hooray!"
"What fun!"
"It's time we flew!"
Said Ikel Me, Pickle Me, Tickle Me too

Ikel was captain, and Pickle was crew
And Tickle served Coffee and mulligan stew
As higher
And higher
And higher they flew
Ikel Me, Pickle Me, Tickle Me too.

Ikel Me, Pickle Me, Tickle Me too
Over the sun and beyond the blue
"Hold on!"
"Stay in!"
"I hope we do!"
Cried Ikle Me, Pickle Me, Tickle Me too

Ikel Me, Pickle Me, Tickle Me too
Never returned to the world they knew,
And nobody
Knows what
Happened to
Dear Ikel Me, Pickle Me, Tickle Me too

--Shel Sliverstein

Enjoy here while you're here because there's no here there.

[skyminxx 0]

My mum used to read this to me when I was a girl.

She never was much on nursery rhymes but she substitued them with this kind of thing...

She is also a big Shakespear fan so I guess that Im lucky that I wasnt called Titania

btw Merrick, your poem for Pammi was beautiful.


The Green Eye of the Yellow God

There's a one-eyed yellow idol to the north of Khatmandu,
There's a little marble cross below the town;
There's a broken-hearted woman tends the grave of Mad Carew,
And the Yellow God forever gazes down.

He was known as "Mad Carew" by the subs at Khatmandu,
He was hotter than they felt inclined to tell;
But for all his foolish pranks, he was worshipped in the ranks,
And the Colonel's daughter smiled on him as well.

He had loved her all along, with a passion of the strong,
The fact that she loved him was plain to all.
She was nearly twenty-one and arrangements had begun
To celebrate her birthday with a ball.

He wrote to ask what present she would like from Mad Carew;
They met next day as he dismissed a squad;
And jestingly she told him then that nothing else would do
But the green eye of the little Yellow God.

On the night before the dance, Mad Carew seemed in a trance,
And they chaffed him as they puffed at their cigars;
But for once he failed to smile, and he sat alone awhile,
Then went out into the night beneath the stars.

He returned before the dawn, with his shirt and tunic torn,
And a gash across his temple dripping red;
He was patched up right away, and he slept through all the day,
And the Colonel's daughter watched beside his bed.

He woke at last and asked if they could send his tunic through;
She brought it, and he thanked her with a nod;
He bade her search the pocket saying, "That's from Mad Carew,"
And she found the little green eye of the god.

She upbraided poor Carew in the way that women do,
Though both her eyes were strangely hot and wet;
But she wouldn't take the stone and Mad Carew was left alone
With the jewel that he'd chanced his life to get.

When the ball was at its height, on that still and tropic night,
She thought of him and hastened to his room;
As she crossed the barrack square she could hear the dreamy air
Of a waltz tune softly stealing thro' the gloom.

His door was open wide, with silver moonlight shining through;
The place was wet and slipp'ry where she trod;
An ugly knife lay buried in the heart of Mad Carew,
'Twas the "Vengeance of the Little Yellow God."

There's a one-eyed yellow idol to the north of Khatmandu
There's a little marble cross below the town;
There's a broken-hearted woman tends the grave of Mad Carew,
And the Yellow God forever gazes down.

-- J. Milton Hayes

You are led through your lifetime by the inner learning creature, the playful spiritual being that is your real self.-Richard Bach

[livendive 8]

Some Frost I like:

A Minor Bird
I have wished a bird would fly away,
And not sing by my house all day;

Have clapped my hands at him from the door
When it seemed as if I could bear no more.

The fault must partly have been in me.
The bird was not to blame for his key.

And of course there must be something wrong
In wanting to silence any song.

Acceptance
When the spent sun throws up its rays on cloud
And goes down burning into the gulf below,
No voice in nature is heard to cry aloud
At what has happened. Birds, at least must know
It is the change to darkness in the sky.
Murmuring something quiet in her breast,
One bird begins to close a faded eye;
Or overtaken too far from his nest,
Hurrying low above the grove, some waif
Swoops just in time to his remembered tree.
At most he thinks or twitters softly, 'Safe!
Now let the night be dark for all of me.
Let the night bee too dark for me to see
Into the future. Let what will be, be.'

The Silken Tent
She is as in a field a silken tent
At midday when the sunny summer breeze
Has dried the dew and all its ropes relent,
So that in guys it gently sways at ease,
And its supporting central cedar pole,
That is its pinnacle to heavenward
And signifies the sureness of the soul,
Seems to owe naught to any single cord,
But strictly held by none, is loosely bound
By countless silken ties of love and thought
To everything on earth the compass round,
And only by one's going slightly taut
In the capriciousness of summer air
Is of the slightest bondage made aware.

Blues,
Dave

"I AM A PROFESSIONAL EXTREME ATHLETE!"
(drink Mountain Dew)

[pop 0]

Writing on bathroom walls my friend
Is not so wise a deed
Around turd we're all great poets
Around great poets, we're all shit

7 ounce wonders, music and dogs that are not into beer

[Zep 0]

As seen in several public toilets


Here I sit broken hearted
paid my penny an only farted



While your reading what I put
you are pissing on your foot



Killroy was here
Killroy was there
Killroy is every fucking where

Gone fishing

[windcatcher 0]

Here's a REALLY good one by Edgar Allen Poe:

A Dream Within A Dream

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow--
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream:
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is is therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.
I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand--
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep--while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?

Sarah

Mother to the cutest little thing in the world...

[peacefuljeffrey 0]

Quote

Edgar Allen Poe

I Love all of his tales and poems. Next comes Robert Frost

Heather

Ah, Frost.

The Road Not Taken
(from memory)

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

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 both about the same

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

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.

-Robert Frost



It's not hard to figure why I bothered to memorize that one, is it?
-Jeffrey

-Jeffrey
"With tha thoughts of a militant mind... Hard line, hard line after hard line!"

[windcatcher 0]

oh, sangiro, there's another good one by e.e.cummings. I think the title is "I like my body when it is with your body"....
here's my newbie skydiver version: (READ: THE ORIGINAL POEM VERSION , BY EE CUMMINGS, IS ALL HIS WORK AND THE FOLLOWING VERSION IS MY CORNEY ATTEMPT AT HUMOR, I AM NOT PLAGIARIZING!!!) ....so anyways,
i like my body when it is with your rig. It is so quite new a thing.Muscles better and nerves more. I like your rig. I like what it does, I like its hows. I like to feel the spine of your rig and its bones. and the trembling firm-smoothness of which I will again and again and again kiss, I like kissing this and that of your rig...and possibly I like the thrill of on top of me, your rig so quite new.

----------------SC

Mother to the cutest little thing in the world...

[peacefuljeffrey 0]

Quote

i like my body when it is with your rig. It is so quite new a thing.Muscles better and nerves more. I like your rig. I like what it does, I like its hows. I like to feel the spine of your rig and its bones. and the trembling firm-smoothness of which I will again and again and again kiss, I like kissing this and that of your rig...and possibly I like the thrill of on top of me, your rig so quite new.
----------------SC

I like!

-Jeffrey

-Jeffrey
"With tha thoughts of a militant mind... Hard line, hard line after hard line!"

[kallend 1,625]

I am a sundial and I make a botch
Of what is done, far better, by a watch.



Here I lie by the Chancel door
They buried me here because I was poor.
The further in, the more you pay.
But here I lie, as snug as they.

...

The only sure way to survive a canopy collision is not to have one.

[flygirl03 0]

mine has to be the one Bill Cole wrote for me in when i finally made my first solo:

MY SOUL IS IN THE SKY
..........................

Congrats on your jumping,
You are a success.
You've proved you could do it,
It wasn't a guess.
And now when you dive out
And fly in the blue,
You'll be part of the sky
And the sky part of you.

Other people in freefall
Will look at your face
And witness your pleasure
While falling through space.
You'll do tracking and hookups,
And in all that you do,
You'll be part of the sky
And the sky part of you.

A thousand thrills waiting
As you thrust out the door
And the wind hits your face
As your feet leave the floor.
You truly are flying
Like a bird in the blue
With your soul in the sky
And its beauty in you.

I knew all along
That you'd leap out that door,
It wasnt too long
From 0 3 to 0 4,
Determination was present
There was nothing to fear,
Now the sky is all yours
And you'll have to buy beer.

May the wonderful blue sky give you all its treasures.

Your soul is in the sky.

~Bill Cole


* Thanks agan, Bill for believing in me

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
earthbound misfit

[QuickDraw 0]

Quote

I have a confession to make.... I love poetry!

Man.. and i thought i was fucked up.

Vibes dude.

-- Hope you don't die. --

I'm fucking winning

[BoostedXT 0]

She walks in Beauty by George Gordon Byron.

SHE walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that 's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair'd the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!


When I get home I will post some that I have writen. I was published when I was back in highschool. I actually dont like it when people read my poems because I write for me to clear my mind. I passed one in as a school project...lol...and she passed it to a book and it got published.

Joe

For long as you live and high you fly and smiles you'll give and tears you'll cry and all that you touch and all that you see is all your life will ever be.
Pedro Offers you his Protection.

[surfers98 0]

Either 'The Hollow Men' or 'The Wasteland' by T.S. Eliot, the latter of which being too long to reproduce here.

'The Hollow Men'
T. S. Eliot (1925)

I

We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats' feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar

Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom
Remember us -- if at all -- not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.

II

Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
In death's dream kingdom
These do not appear:
There, the eyes are
Sunlight on a broken column
There, is a tree swinging
And voices are
In the wind's singing
More distant and more solemn
Than a fading star.

Let me be no nearer
In death's dream kingdom
Let me also wear
Such deliberate disguises
Rat's coat, crowskin, crossed staves
In a field
Behaving as the wind behaves
No nearer --

Not that final meeting
In the twilight kingdom

III

This is the dead land
This is cactus land
Here the stone images
Are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a dead man's hand
Under the twinkle of a fading star.

Is it like this
In death's other kingdom
Waking alone
At the hour when we are
Trembling with tenderness
Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken stone.

IV

The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms

In this last of meeting places
We grope together
And avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river

Sightless, unless
The eyes reappear
As the perpetual star
Multifoliate rose
Of death's twilight kingdom
The hope only
Of empty men.

V

Here we go round the prickly pear
Prickly pear prickly pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
At five o'clock in the morning.

Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow

For Thine is the Kingdom

Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow

Life is very long

Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom

For Thine is
Life is
For Thine is the

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.

[cocheese 0]

Jack and Jill
Went up the hill
To smoke a little leaf
Jack got high
And dropped his fly
And Jill said
"Where's the beef ?

[christelsabine 1]

Anne Barret-Browning.
She wrote the best I ever read.

Lovely.

dudeist skydiver # 3105

[teason 0]

Arrgh, I came to this thread too late, that's one of my favorites.

When I first started skydiving (I've never told anyone this), I was terrified for my first 15 jumps. The only way I could get out of the plane was by repeating this poem by Jack London in my head before exit.

Quote

I would rather be ashes than dust!
I would rather that my spark should burn out
in a brilliant blaze than it should be stifled by dry-rot.
I would rather be a superb meteor, every atom
of me in magnificent glow, than a sleepy and permanent planet.
The function of man is to live, not to exist.
I shall not waste my days trying to prolong them.
I shall use my time.

I quote it on every post, see...

I would rather be a superb meteor, every atom of me in magnificent glow, than a sleepy and permanent planet.

[GeordieSkydiver 0]

Quote

if you can walk with kings and still keep the common touch,
if you can lose all in a game of pitch and toss
if you can rebuild your life with broken tools
and keep your head when all around you people are losing theirs
you'll be a man my son

This is my favourite poem also (even if slightly modified)

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!

Lee _______________________________

In a world full of people, only some want to fly, is that not crazy?
http://www.ukskydiver.co.uk

[Shotgun 1]

Quote

I shall not waste my days trying to prolong them.

I like that line.

[DexterBase 0]

The Quitter

When you're lost in the Wild, and you're scared as a child,
And Death looks you bang in the eye,
And you're sore as a boil, it's according to Hoyle
To cock your revolver and . . . die.
But the Code of a Man says: "Fight all you can,"
And self-dissolution is barred.
In hunger and woe, oh, it's easy to blow . . .
It's the hell-served-for-breakfast that's hard.

"You're sick of the game!" Well, now, that's a shame.
You're young and you're brave and you're bright.
"You've had a raw deal!" I know -- but don't squeal,
Buck up, do your damnedest, and fight.
It's the plugging away that will win you the day,
So don't be a piker, old pard!
Just draw on your grit; it's so easy to quit:
It's the keeping-your-chin-up that's hard.

It's easy to cry that you're beaten -- and die;
It's easy to crawfish and crawl;
But to fight and to fight when hope's out of sight --
Why, that's the best game of them all!
And though you come out of each gruelling bout,
All broken and beaten and scarred,
Just have one more try -- it's dead easy to die,
It's the keeping-on-living that's hard.




--- Robert Service



It got me though some pretty rough times. You'd be surprised.

[cloud9 0]

My nephew was published for this one.

Ripples in the Pool
>
>She casts her stones into the pool
>Demeanor distant, cold and cruel
>No concern for enduring effect
>With those the ripples will connect
>Eyes clouded with ignorant pride
>Unable to see the waves collide
>Unsuspecting children and me
>Set adrift in her turbulent sea
>The clamor falls on deafened ear
>The sirens call is all she hears
>When she awakens from her dream
>To distant echoes of a scream
>Shallow friends and life lived too fast
>Reminders of the stones she's cast
>Out far beyond her selfish sight
>We'll weather storm and conquer night
>When once again on placid sea
>We'll thank our God on bended knee
>
>Lee Bottger

[legalart 0]

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look will easily unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands

ee cummings

[Lindsey 0]

For Your Pleasure
by brown-eyed girl (Lisa)

you stand before me
let my tounge slide
down your chest
and all around
looking up to catch the look in your eyes
then continue the pathway
nipping and stopping upon your pants
keep you in suspense
you are hard
my hands run up and down your thighs
then I circle my hands and grab your butt
pull you to my face
and my fingers touch your hardness
through the material
I hear your breathing
then slowly undo your button
then slide down your zipper
pull you out
slip the tip on my nose
just nuzzling it
with one hand holding you
then my tounge just touches the very
tip of it
I look up at you
and....
ask you what you want
what did you say?
sooooo I slick you with my saliva
my tounge runs up and down you
then I get a little w*t from doing this
so I stop
and take your hand
ask you to lay down on the carpeted floor
so I can do some more
and I run my hands up and down your body
slowly erotically
kissing your face
then I slowly sink down and you are inside me
your hands fly up to hold my sides
and you bounce me up and down
then I look at you
you are making me moan
I arch my back and you explode
then its done

--
A conservative is just a liberal who's been mugged. A liberal is just a conservative who's been to jail

[Icon134 0]

THE FACE we choose to miss,
Be it but for a day-
As absent as a hundred years
When it has rode away.

Emily Dickenson

[Misslmperfect 0]

one of my favorites, by e. e. cummings

Of Nicolette

dreaming in marble all the castle lay
like some gigantic ghost-flower born of night
blossoming in white towers to the moon,
soft sighed the passionate darkness to the tune
of tiny troubadours,and(phantom-white)
dumb-blooming boughs let fall their glorious snows
and the unearthly sweetness of a rose
swam upward from the troubled heart of May;

a Winged Passion woke and one by one
there fell upon the night,like angel's tears,
the syllables of that mysterious prayer,
and as an opening lily drowsy-fair
(when from her couch of poppy petals peers
the sleepy morning)gently draws apart
her curtains,and lays bare her trembling heart,
with beads of dew made jewels by the sun,

so one high shining tower(which as a glass
turned light to flame and blazed with snowy fire)
unfolding,gave the moon a nymphlike face,
a form whose snowy symmetry of grace
haunted the limbs as music haunts the lyre,
a creature of white hands,who letting fall
a thread of lustre from the castle wall
glided,a drop of radiance,to the grass-

shunning the sudden moonbeam's treacherous snare
she sought the harbouring dark,and(catching up
her delicate silk)all white,with shining feet,
went forth into the dew:right wildly beat
her heart at every kiss of daisy-cup,
and from her cheek the beauteous colour went
with every bough that reverently bent
to touch the yellow wonder of her hair.

Oh Canada, merci pour la livraison!