greatpoetry | Entries tagged with -request

aquamarcia.livejournal.com

I have a request to make on behalf of both myself and a user on Reddit's r/Poetry. The TL;DR is that we're looking for the complete poem, title (if applicable) and author that attaches to the following six lines:

But our soul, whose no more bounds nor space requires,
Enclosed in her dear womb of her pure fire,
Born of high love, to aspire
To a fairer life than this frail flesh inherits,
Must hud her wings, when she begins to rise,
And with new plumes, a new Phoenix cries.

My mostly uneducated guess is that these six lines are the last six lines of a sonnet which the user from Reddit thinks is from the 17th Century.

( Or fall into the rabbit hole behind this cut for more details )

A big thank you in advance to anyone who can spare a moment to help with this.

( And while we're at it, here's the John Donne poem found in the middle of this mess... )

angabel.livejournal.com

Going through a midlife crisis. Send help. Poems help. Thank you.

Disappointment

I was feeling pretty religious
standing on the bridge in my winter coat
looking down at the gray water:
the sharp little waves dusted with snow,
fish in their tin armor.

That's what I like about disappointment:
the way it slows you down,
when the querulous insistent chatter of desire
goes dead calm

and the minor roadside flowers
pronounce their quiet colors,
and the red dirt of the hillside glows.

She played the flute, he played the fiddle
and the moon came up over the barn.
Then he didn't get the job, —
or her father died before she told him
that one, most important thing—

and everything got still.

It was February or October
It was July
I remember it so clear
You don't have to pursue anything ever again
It's over
You're free
You're unemployed

You just have to stand there
looking out on the water
in your trench coat of solitude
with your scarf of resignation
lifting in the wind.

-- Tony Hoagland

firebomber.livejournal.com

I'm visiting a friend's grave tomorrow and would like something appropriate to read. Whatever you think that may be. Thank you.

Night in the Kitchen

The refrigerator falls silent.
Then other things are audible:
this dull, sheet-metal mind rattling like stage thunder.
The thickness budging forward in these veins
is surely something other
than blood:
say, molten lava.

You will become a black lace cliff fronting a deadpan sea;
nerves, friable as lightning
ending in burnt pine forests.
You are begun, beginning, your black heart drumming
slowly, triumphantly
inside its pacific cave.

crazedazed13.livejournal.com

My request is for poems about being heartbroken and the pain of heartache please. I've looked through the memories but thought I'd ask anyway as there is just so much good poetry out there.

( No, I Wasn't Meant to Love and Be Loved )

med_cat

I recall reading a short poem--just a few lines--here at greatpoets, a while back--something about very few things being necessary for happiness, just two people who love each other, a cup of coffee, perhaps, 'in Khabarovsk or anywhere'--something along these lines. Can't recall the title or the author; Google search is no help--perhaps someone here knows the poem? Many thanks!

Here's a more-cheerful-than-his-usual spring poem by Thomas Hardy for you:

Proud Songsters

The thrushes sing as the sun is going,
And the finches whistle in ones and pairs,
And as it gets dark loud nightingales
In bushes
Pipe, as they can when April wears,
As if all Time were theirs.

These are brand-new birds of twelve-months’ growing,
Which a year ago, or less than twain,
No finches were, nor nightingales,
Nor thrushes,
But only particles of grain,
And earth, and air, and rain.

Thomas Hardy 1840-1928

Found via

poemsdaily

erest.livejournal.com

I am looking for a poem with a stanza about hounds sleeping by the fire after the hunt with dead hares by their sides, eyes still open

Can anyone help? Thanks

rose0mary.livejournal.com

The Pilgrim

Who would true valour see,
        Let him come hither!
One here will constant be,
        Come wind, come weather;
There’s no discouragement
Shall make him once relent
His first-avow’d intent
     To be a Pilgrim.

Whoso beset him round
      With dismal stories,
Do but themselves confound
      His strength the more is,
No lion can him fright;
Hel’ll with a giant fight;
But he will have a right
     To be a Pilgrim

Nor enemy, nor friend,
   Can daunt his spirit;
He knows he at the end
     Shall Life inherit; =
Then, fancies, fly away;
He’ll fear not what men say;
He’ll labour, night and day,
    To be a Pilgrim
John Bunyan

( Lord Tennyson )

I recently learned my friend's mother died - so, any poems dealing with grief or mentioning death (but not too morbid, if you please)

Current Music: O Holy Night - Josh Groban

firebomber.livejournal.com

A friend of mine passed away recently and I'm having a hard time finding poems to relate to.

He was a 50 year old inner city born and raised black man who spent half his life incarcerated and struggled with addiction, so I'd really like poetry written by non-white poets.

michayye.livejournal.com

Hi everyone! I'm looking for effective poems about monsters. They can be terrifying poems, adorable poems or, beautifully, the conceptual idea of some kind of monster described through imagery or played with metaphorically.

Something lovely (though unrelated to monsters) for your time:

Deep Chess
Lawrence Ferlinghetti

Life itself like championship chess
dark players jousting
on a checkered field
where you have only
so much time
to complete your moves
And your clock running
all the time
and if you take
too much time
for one move
you have that much less
for the rest
of your life
And your opponent
dark or fair
(which may or may not be
life itself)
bugging you with his deep eyes
or obscenely wiggling his crazy eyebrows
or blowing smoke in your face
or crossing and recrossing his legs
or her legs
or otherwise screwing around
and acting like some insolent invulnerable
unbeatable god
who can read your mind & heart
And one hasty move
may ruin you
for you must play
deep chess
(like the one deep game Spassky won from Fischer)
And if your unstudied opening
was not too brilliant
you must play to win not draw
and suddenly come up with
a new Nabokov variation
And then lay Him out at last
with some super end-game
no one has ever even dreamed of

And there’s still time-
Your move

orange-fell.livejournal.com

I'm looking for poems about seeds, in any sense: from plants and gardens, to more conceptual pieces about fertility and potential, to baked goods with crunchy seed crusts! I would especially appreciate any poems about poppyseeds and Jewish cooking, but seeds! Any seed poems you know, please!

THE SEED SHOP

Muriel Stuart

Here in a quiet and dusty room they lie,
    Faded as crumbled stone or shifting sand,
Forlorn as ashes, shrivelled, scentless, dry,
    Meadows and gardens running through my hand.

Dead tha shall quicken at the trump of Spring,
    Sleepers to stir beneath June's splendid kiss,
Though birds pass over, unremembering,
    And no bee seek here roses that were his.

In this brown husk a dale of hawthorn dreams,
    A cedar in this narrow cell is thrust
That will drink deeply of a century's streams;
    These lilies shall make Summer on my dust.

Here in their safe and simple houses of death
    Sealed in their shells a million roses leap;
Here I can blow a garden with my breath,
    And in my hand a forest lies asleep.

two-grey-rooms.livejournal.com

man, i hope people still use this community...anyway, i have an odd request for anyone who is willing to help me. i am looking for poems about objects---any object (or objects), a notebook, a toilet, a pair of shoes. a meditation about a particular object. from any poet. i am sure these poems exist, but i'm drawing a blank.

and a poem for you:

Persephone in September
Peter S. Beagle

The leaves are at my feet. The grass is dead.
The air is bitter as a dragonbite.
I hear the thunder moaning overhead,
Like some great creature dying in the night.
The winter wraps my shoulders like a shawl,
And I can taste the still unfallen snow.
The darkness comes like footsteps in the hall.
The winds reclaim the world, and I must go.

I take a road beyond the sight of eyes
That runs beyond the minds of walking men,
And only this I leave---a song that cries,
"Oh, I will surely, surely come again!"
And, knowing this, I turn my eyes and mark
My iron lover, crouching in the dark.

ninasafiri.livejournal.com

I mean: Can you forgive yourself / all
those crimes without victims?

request: poems about appearing strong or hiding weakness?

keyohnah.livejournal.com

Hello everyone! It's been too long since being on livejournal. I can feel the catharsis already :P. I just recently found out that I'm pregnant. It was definitely unexpected but we're excited. Things will be tough but we'll make it work. I'm telling you all this because I was hoping that some of you guys knew good pregnancy related poems. I think it'll really help me feel more sane again (as poetry usually does), hahaha.

tl;dr: Looking for poems related to pregnancy, preferably positive. I'd be insanely appreciative of any help in finding some poems related to this.

Thank you sososo much!

To stay within the rules, here's Be Kind by Charles Bukowski. Sorry if this has been posted to death. If it has, I will edit & replace with a new one. It's been awhile.

Be Kind

we are always asked
to understand the other person's
viewpoint
no matter how
out-dated
foolish or
obnoxious.

( one is asked... )

Current Mood: indescribable

exceptindreams.livejournal.com

Request: Any poems about intermarriage or loving someone of another faith? Alternatively, poems about loving someone forbidden [be it because of religion, culture, ethnicity, etc.]?

"Marrying Outside the Faith"
Anya Krugovoy Silver

Choosing you, I forfeited my wedding crown, the thrice-
circled altar, the Slavic hymns that rise and fall at Vespers

like stippled swallows’ wings. For you, I lost the red
and liquid breath of God inside my throat. Seasons turn

differently, not marked by the altar’s changing silks,
the wooden body of Christ carried at Lent from the cross.

The kisses of forgiveness, weekly bows of lip to icon
or sudden crook to knee. Thumb and finger’s cruciform.

For me, you forfeited the splintered wedding glass and children
born into the faith with smearing of placental blood.

Choosing me, you gave up the shofar’s moan at new moon’s turn,
pockets emptied into water, the sukkah’s fruited beams,

the Hebrew prayers your great-grandfather the cantor died chanting,
God’s name bound around his wrists. Kaddish’s stoop and bend.

When curtains draw, we'll learn to move by touch and sound:
by the flame that cowls the mantel's candle, the crackle of leaves

crushed at the dimmed path's edge. We'll share bread between our teeth.
In certain Russian icons, a sheet of silver sheaths the painted wood.

But always, the artist cuts holes over Christ's face and hands,
releasing from metal those dark oval eyes, the human fingers' faithful kiss.

poppyromanov.livejournal.com

Yesterday, I spent 60 dollars on groceries,
took the bus home,
carried both bags with two good arms back to my studio apartment
and cooked myself dinner.
You and I may have different definitions of a good day.
This week, I paid my rent and my credit card bill,
worked 60 hours between my two jobs,
only saw the sun on my cigarette breaks
and slept like a rock.
Flossed in the morning,
locked my door,
and remembered to buy eggs.
My mother is proud of me.
It is not the kind of pride she brags about at the golf course.
She doesn’t combat topics like, "My daughter got into Yale"
with, "Oh yeah, my daughter remembered to buy eggs"
But she is proud.
See, she remembers what came before this.
The weeks where I forgot how to use my muscles,
how I would stay as silent as a thick fog for weeks.
She thought each phone call from an unknown number was the notice of my suicide.
These were the bad days.
My life was a gift that I wanted to return.
My head was a house of leaking faucets and burnt-out lightbulbs.
Depression, is a good lover.
So attentive; has this innate way of making everything about you.
And it is easy to forget that your bedroom is not the world,
That the dark shadows your pain casts is not mood-lighting.
It is easier to stay in this abusive relationship than fix the problems it has created.
Today, I slept in until 10,
cleaned every dish I own,
fought with the bank,
took care of paperwork.
You and I might have different definitions of adulthood.
I don’t work for salary, I didn’t graduate from college,
but I don’t speak for others anymore,
and I don’t regret anything I can’t genuinely apologize for.
And my mother is proud of me.
I burned down a house of depression,
I painted over murals of greyscale,
and it was hard to rewrite my life into one I wanted to live
But today, I want to live.
I didn’t salivate over sharp knives,
or envy the boy who tossed himself off the Brooklyn bridge.
I just cleaned my bathroom,
did the laundry,
called my brother.
Told him, “it was a good day.”

**
Request: Looking for poems to send to a friend dealing with mental health issues, ideally similar to the one above or Franz Wright's "To Myself." Thank you in advance!

two-grey-rooms.livejournal.com

would anyone who is subscribed to the new yorker be so kind as to copy and paste the new anne carson poem for me, pretty please?

and, of course, a poem for your trouble:

"Blues for Sweet Thing"
Rachel Eliza Griffiths

Whose little girl am I?
Anyone who has money to buy.
What do they call me?
--Nina Simone, "Four Women"

I'm honeysuckle.
A girl child crying
holy seven sins.

A harp & loom.
A rack of ribs.
A ribcage.

A pocket of coins
never to be spent
because my country

no longer exists. Almanac,
without page numbers

or prophecy.
For you I was sycamore,

pear, willow,
maple & bougainvillea.

For you
I was bathwater.

Gazelle, artichoke,
tulip & daffodil.

Your father's tears.

Blue fern of smoke
from a cigarette

opened by a fist
of summer rain.

For you
I was a red dress.

( Teeth that glowed )

Current Mood: hoping this community hasn't died :(

ninasafiri.livejournal.com

REQUEST: Poems about revenge/vengeance or reclaiming something from an enemy.

If They Come In The Night, Marge Piercy

Long ago on a night of danger and vigil
a friend said, why are you happy?
He explained (we lay together
on a cold hard floor) what prison
meant because he had done
time, and I talked of the death
of friends. Why are you happy
then, he asked, close to
angry.

I said, I like my life. If I
have to give it back, if they
take it from me, let me
not feel I wasted any, let me
not feel I forgot to love anyone
I meant to love, that I forgot
to give what I held in my hands,
that I forgot to do some little
piece of the work that wanted
to come through.

Sun and moonshine, starshine,
the muted light off the waters
of the bay at night, the white
light of the fog stealing in,
the first spears of morning
touching a face
I love. We all lose
everything. We lose
ourselves. We are lost.

Only what we manage to do
lasts, what love sculpts from us;
but what I count, my rubies, my
children, are those moments
wide open when I know clearly
who I am, who you are, what we
do, a marigold, an oakleaf, a meteor,
with all my senses hungry and filled
at once like a pitcher with light.

seasight.livejournal.com

After the wolves and before the elms
the bardic order ended in Ireland.

Only a few remained to continue
a dead art in a dying land:

This is a man
on the road from Youghal to Cahirmoyle.
He has no comfort, no food and no future.
He has no fire to recite his friendless measures by.
His riddles and flatteries will have no reward.
His patrons sheath their swords in Flanders and Madrid.

Reader of poems, lover of poetry—
in case you thought this was a gentle art
follow this man on a moonless night
to the wretched bed he will have to make:

The Gaelic world stretches out under a hawthorn tree
and burns in the rain. This is its home,
its last frail shelter. All of it—
Limerick, the Wild Geese and what went before—
falters into cadence before he sleeps:
He shuts his eyes. Darkness falls on it.

*

Found my original poem. New request! Anything about royalty!

firebomber.livejournal.com

Hi all, I'm looking for some poetry dealing with the death of a pet. We rescued a tiny kitten last Thursday and he's been in the hospital because he can't seem to keep his blood sugar from falling and, well, I am bracing myself to bury him and could use some comfort in the way only words can do.

In return, I give you:

from Leaflets

5.

The strain of being born

over and over has torn your smile into pieces

Often I have seen it broken

and then re-membered

and wondered how a beauty

so anarch, so ungelded

will be cared for in this world.

I want to hand you this

leaflet streaming with rain or tears

but the words coming clear

something you might find crushed into your hand

after passing a barricade

and stuff in your raincoat pocket.

I want this to reach you

who told me once that poetry is nothing sacred

--no more sacred that is

than other things in your life--

to answer yes, if life is uncorrupted

no better poetry is wanted.

I want this to be yours

in the sense that if you find and read it

it will be there in you already

and the leaflet then merely something

to leave behind, a little leaf

in the drawer of a sublet room.

What else does it come down to

but handing on scraps of paper

little figurines or phials

no stronger than the dry clay they are baked in

yet more than dry clay or paper

because the imagination crouches in them.

If we needed fire to remind us

that all true images

were scooped out of the mud

where our bodies curse and flounder

then perhaps that fire is coming

to sponge away the scribes and time-servers

and much that you would have loved will be lost as well

before you could handle it and know it

just as we almost miss each other

in the ill cloud of mistrust, who might have touched

hands quickly, shared food or given blood

for each other. I am thinking how we can use what we have

to invent what we need.

-Adrienne Rich

jillianfish.livejournal.com

I know this is a common request but my grandmother died on Tuesday evening. My aunt has asked me to say something at the service and I don't think I'll be able to handle telling any personal stories. So I'd like to request poems regarding death, moving on, being at peace and especially about joining a loved one in heaven. My grandfather died before I was born and I know my grandmother missed him every day and it would give everyone great peace to know she was with him. Also, she (and most of the people attending) are Catholic so something with a religious tone would be greatly appreciated. Many thanks, and in return, a poem I'm considering reading.

I'm Free
Don't grieve for me, for now I'm free.
I'm following the path God laid, you see.
I took His hand when I heard him call.
I turned around and left it all.
I could not stay another day,
To laugh, to love, to work or play.
Tasks left undone must stay that way,
I've found the peace on a sunny day.
If my parting has left a void,
Then fill it with remembered joys.
A family shared, a laugh, a kiss,
Oh yes, these things, I too, will miss.
Be not burdened with times of sorrow,
I wish you the sunshine of tomorrow.
My life's been full, I savored much,
Good friends, good times, a loved one's touch.
Perhaps my time seemed all too brief.
Don't lengthen it now with undue grief.
Lift up your hearts and peace to thee.
God wanted me now; He set me free.

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I Eat Poetry

Entries tagged with -request

a request rises from the ashes, as does John Donne

Midlife Crisis request/Disappointment

Night in the Kitchen

request and a poem

Proud Songsters, by Thomas Hardy, and a request

Poem request

The Pilgrim (John Bunyon) and request

(no subject)

REQUEST: poems about monsters ! :)

REQUEST: Poems about Seeds

an odd request & a poem

"ARE YOU THE LAMB OF YOUR OWN FORGIVING?", RICHARD BRAUTIGAN

Be Kind: C. Bukowski / pregnancy poem request

Marrying Outside the Faith | Anya Krugovoy Silver (+ request on loving someone of a different faith)

A Good Day -- Kait Rokowski

request for anne carson poem + one rachel eliza griffiths poem.

Request + Piercy

Eavan Boland, "My Country in Darkness"

Poems about Death of a Pet

(no subject)

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March 2025

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