Favourite Poetry

    The Moth and the Flame:A Love Story

    • by
    • Jun 21, 2013

    A moth flying in black darkness
     Found a yellow flame flickering
      over a red candlestick
       On a brass plate
        Bright in the darkness
      And the moth was pleased
          At the beauty of it
           And flew around it
            Admiringly
      And the moth fell in love
       With the flame.


    Soulmates of Another Kind

    • by
    • Jun 21, 2013

    Soulmates of another kind
    They say my thoughts
    And read my mind
    They know my fears
    They share them too
    They type my sentences before I do
    Their smile's my reflection
    Their voice my own
    We have separate bodies
    But one internal home


    Sonnet 116

    • by
    • Jun 21, 2013

    Let me not to the marriage of true minds
    Admit impediments. Love is not love
    Which alters when it alteration finds,
    Or bends with the remover to remove:
    O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
    That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
    It is the star to every wandering bark,
    Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
    Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
    Within his bending sickle's compass come:
    Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
    But bears it out even to the edge of doom.


    If

    • by
    • Jun 21, 2013

    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:


    Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep

    • by
    • Jun 21, 2013

    Do not stand at my grave and weep,
    I am not there, I do not sleep.
    I am a thousand winds that blow,
    I am the softly falling snow.
    I am the gentle showers of rain,
    I am the fields of ripening grain.
    I am in the morning hush,
    I am in the graceful rush
    Of beautiful birds in circling flight.
    I am the starshine of the night.
    I am in the flowers that bloom,
    I am in a quiet room.
    I am in the birds that sing,
    I am in each lovely thing.
    Do not stand at my grave and cry,
    I am not there, I did not die.