Einen Thread für Zitate gibt es schon, aber noch keinen für die schönsten Gedichte.
Mein Libelingsgedicht ist von Heinrich Heine:

Doktrin

Schlage die Trommel und fürchte dich nicht,
Und küsse die Marketenderin!
Das ist die ganze Wissenschaft,
Das ist der Bücher tiefster Sinn.

Trommle die Leute aus dem Schlaf,
Trommle Reveille mit Jugendkraft,
Marschiere trommelnd immer voran,
das ist die ganze Wissenschaft.

Das ist die Hegelsche Philosophie,
Das ist der Bücher tiefster Sinn!
Ich hab sie begriffen, weil ich gescheit,
Und weil ich ein guter Tambour bin.

Kleine Auswahl aus meiner "Sammlung":


Dylan Thomas’ "Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night"

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.


Barbara Fletcher "Green Woman"

In the third pew I saw her
turn to reach for a hymnal:
a woman, turtle-shell green and radiant,
verdant skin and eyes marbled
with veins of copper and silver.
In the stained-glass sunlight
she shone metallic, like the flash
of fish in northern Ontario waters,
or birch leaves in a September wind:
the flashdance of chlorophyll and silver-white.

The others whispered that she was a
victim of a misplaced needle as a child:
a sudden and irrevocable infusion
of emerald-green into every cell.
And she was permanently transformed
into a serpent.

But there was nothing reptilian
about this living jade sculpture,
this perfect singing jewel.


Verfasser unbekannt (?)

Do not stand by our graves and weep,
We are not there.
We do not sleep.
We are a thousand winds that blow.
We are a diamond glint on snow.
We are the sunlight on ripened grain.
We are the gentle autumn rain.
When you awake in the morning hush,
We are the swift up-flinging rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight.
We are the soft star shine at night.
Do not stand by our graves and cry.
We are not there.
We did not die.


Verfasser unbekannt (?)

Running down
through
corridors
through
automatic doors

I see hope escape in a plastic box