Nearly everyone has their own favorite poems. Some are poems we were exposed to growing up, others are poems we were forced to study in high school or college English classes, and still others are poems that we discovered on our own. In my case, I discovered the first of the two following poems while growing up. I remember reading the first to my fellow 4th grade students and realizing just what it was I’d selected for that day’s reading as a girl burst into tears.
The second I discovered as I was reading through a book of poems by a poet whose other work I’d been forced to read and analyze in AP English class, and it struck me in much the same way as Machiavelli’s The Prince, Orwell’s 1984, Card’s Ender’s Game, and Dante’s Inferno had – like someone had reached over, smacked me upside the head with a slice of lemon wrapped around a large gold brick, and demanded that I pay attention.
So, without further ado, two of my favorite poems:
Arrows, by Shel Silverstein
I shot an arrow toward the sky,
It hit a white cloud floating by.
The clould fell dying to the shore,
I don’t shoot arrows anymore.
Fire and Ice, by Robert Frost
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
Feel free to add your own in the comments. And thanks to Whythawk, whose post on Harry Potter inspired today’s rambling.