Favorite Poem and/or Book?

My favorite is The Fall of the House of Ursher (baby). :wink:

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The tell tale heart is one of my favorites

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:slight_smile: That is SO cool! Thank you for sharing.

@Sharp
Have you read Travelers with Charley? It chronicles a road trip that John Steinbeck took across America in 1960 with his dog Charley. It’s one of my favorite books. It’s a bit of a lighter read than Steinbeck’s novels, but it’s very well-written, insightful and also quite funny.

A quote from the book describing Charley—
“Charley is a tall dog. As he sat in the seat beside me, his head was almost as tall as mine. He put his nose close to my ear and said “Ftt.” He is the only dog I ever knew who could pronounce the consonant F. This is because his front teeth are crooked, a tragedy which keeps him out of dog shows; because his upper front teeth slightly engage his lower lip Charley can pronounce F. The word “Ftt” usually means he would like to salute a bush or a tree.”

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Faust by Goethe was really amazing to read before schizophrenia. Liked it very much.

Apparently I am better at reading than typing—I meant “Travels with Charley”.

I haven’t read that one I will keep a look out for it though! Don’t worry about the spelling XD. I can only spell well with a pencil but with typing, I end up having to use the google correction thing a lot more than I wish I had to. I think our minds move too fast for our fingers XD.

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THE HOARD

'When the moon was new and the sun young
of silver and gold the gods sung:
in the green grass they silver spilled,
and the white waters they with gold filled.
Ere the pit was dug or Hell yawned,
ere dwarf was bred or dragon spawned,
there were Elves of old, and strong spells
under green hills in hollow dells
they sang as they wrought many fair things,
and the bright crowns of the Elf-kings.
But their doom fell, and their song waned,
by iron hewn and by steel chained.
Greed that sang not, nor with mouth smiled,
in dark holes their wealth piled,
graven silver and carven gold:
over Elvenhome the shadow rolled.

There was an old dwarf in a dark cave,
to silver and gold his fingers clave;
with hammer and tongs and anvil-stone
he worked his hands to the hard bone.
and coins he made, and strings of rings,
and thought to buy the power of kings.
But his eyes grew dim and his ears dull
and the skin yellow on his old skull;
through his bony claw with a pale sheen
the stony jewels slipped unseen.
No feet he heard, though the earth quaked.
when the young dragon his thirst slaked.
and the stream smoked at his dark door.
The flames hissed on the dank floor,
and he died alone in the red fire;
his bones were ashes in the hot mire.

There was an old dragon under grey stone;
his red eyes blinked as he lay alone.
His joy was dead and his youth spent,
he was knobbed and wrinkled, and his limbs bent
in the long years to his gold chained;
in his heart’s furnace the fire waned.
To his belly’s slime gems stuck thick,
silver and gold he would snuff and lick:
he knew the place of the least ring
beneath the shadow of his black wing.
Of thieves he thought on his hard bed,
and dreamed that on their flesh he fed,
their bones crushed, and their blood drank:
his ears drooped and his breath sank.
Mail-rings rang. He heard them not.
A voice echoed in his deep grot:
a young warrior with a bright sword
called him forth to defend his hoard.
His teeth were knives, and of horn his hide,
but iron tore him, and his flame died.

There was an old king on a high throne:
his white beard lay on knees of bone;
his mouth savoured neither meat nor drink,
nor his ears song; he could only think
of his huge chest with carven lid
where pale gems and gold lay hid
in secret treasury in the dark ground;
its strong doors were iron-bound.
The swords of his thanes were dull with rust,
his glory fallen, his rule unjust,
his halls hollow, and his bowers cold,
but king he was of elvish gold.
He heard not the horns in the mountain-pass,
he smelt not the blood on the trodden grass,
but his halls were burned, his kingdom lost;
in a cold pit his bones were tossed.

There is an old hoard in a dark rock,
forgotten behind doors none can unlock;
that grim gate no man can pass.
On the mound grows the green grass;
there sheep feed and the larks soar,
and the wind blows from the sea-shore.
The old hoard the Night shall keep,
while earth waits and the Elves sleep.’

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“A Confederacy of Dunces” forget the author I’m afraid to admit. He won a posthumous congressional award for the book.

@jukebox, Do you remember the Tom Snyder Show that used to come on late at night? I watched it one night when he interviewed the author’s sort of old mother. Her story was of her son who had written this wonderful book and once finished was unable to get anyone to publish it. He committed suicide. So his mother was making the rounds to gain publicity for the book which she knew was a work of genius - to get it published as she knew it should have been years ago. The book was A Confederacy of Dunces. It’s one of the books on my list if I can ever read again.

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I remember my favorite short story in school was Flowers for Algernon. Never read the novel though.

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yes, the book is hilarious and well written. that is his story that you tell about. very sad about him killing himself. I’m glad you’ve heard about it.

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I saw the movie - Charley - taken from the book when I was about 20. It had a big effect on me.

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Well, now I know what I wanna watch when I’m the mood.

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