bunnyboo: Gif of a person with an umbrella in the rain (rain)

In my first post, several commenters mentioned the poets born out of World War I and quite a bit of Eleventh Month was excerpts from contemporary poetry. I’d like to share a few, along the name of the poet and if they died during their wartime service. These are the complete poems, so I’ve put each one under a read more tag.

 

“Peace” by Rupert Brooke (1887-1915, died of sepsis without ever seeing battle, aged 27)

 

Read more... )

 

“The Soldier” by Rupert Brooke (1887-1915)

 

Read more... )

 

 

“Dulce et Decorum est” by Wilfred Owen (1893-1918, killed in action one week before the Armistice was signed, aged 25)

 

Read more... )

 

“Insensibility” by Wilfred Owen (1893-1918)

 

 

Read more... )

 

 

“The Last Laugh” by Wilfred Owen (1893-1918)

 

Read more... )

 

 

“To Any Dead Officer” by Siegfried Sassoon (1886-1967)

 

Read more... )

 

“The Poet As Hero” by Siegfried Sassoon (1886-1967)

 

Read more... )

 

 

“I Have a Rendezvous with Death” by Alan Seeger (1888-1916, mortally wounded and died in no man’s land, aged 28)

 

Read more... )

 

 

“Champagne, 1914-1915” by Alan Seeger (1888-1916)

 

Read more... )
bunnyboo: An image of many books (books)
Thought I'd share my favorite poem and ask others what theirs are! I'm not a big poetry fan (mostly because I can't write them - I hate what I don't understand), but I love this poem by Stephen Crane. (Here's a link to it on the Poetry Foundation site and a link to it on Wikipedia)





In the desert
I saw a creature, naked, bestial,
Who, squatting upon the ground,
Held his heart in his hands,
And ate of it.
I said, “Is it good, friend?”
“It is bitter—bitter,” he answered;

“But I like it
“Because it is bitter,
“And because it is my heart.”



I really find this poem beautiful. It's so simple.

A second favorite is this poem by W.B. Yeats. It's one of his most famous. (Here's a link to it on the Poetry Foundation site and a link to it on Wikipedia)



Turning and turning in the widening gyre   
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere   
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst   
Are full of passionate intensity.
 
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.   
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out   
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert   
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,   
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,   
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it   
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.   
The darkness drops again; but now I know   
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,   
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,   
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?



I love the imagery here. "That twenty centuries of stony sleep/Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,/And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,/Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?" is possibly the most chilling line I've ever read.

What are your favorite poems? I think mine say a lot about me and am interested to hear yours!
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