My favorite poem (and one I think would sound great at a reading) is Riding the Elevator into the Sky, by Anne Sexton.

I think it's my favorite because of the way it goes so quickly from a mundane situation to a metaphysical one, and the imagery is puzzling and beautiful. The very first time I read it I knew I'd never forget it.

My favorite poem, by Pattiann Rogers. Sorry, I can't find a link.

For Passions Denied: Pineywoods Lily

Who knows what unrelieved yearning
finally produced the pink-and-lavender-wax control
of these petals, what continual longing
resulted in the sharp arcing of the leaves,
what unceasing obsession became itself
in the steady siren of the ruby stigma? That tense
line of magenta disappearing over the boundaries
of the blossom is so unequivocal in the decision
of its direction, one is afraid to look too long.

I can understand, perhaps, having a hopeless
passion for gliding beneath the sea, wanting to swim
leisurely, without breath, though green salt
and sun-tiered water, to sleep all night, lost
and floating among the stroking of the angelfish,
the weaving rags of the rays. And I can understand
an impossible craving to fly unencumbered,
without effort, naked and easily over sandstone
canyons, through the high rain of river-filled
gorges, to feel the passing pressures of an evening
sky against the forehead, against the breast.
And I can understand the desire to touch a body
that may never be touched, the frenzy to move
one’s hand along a thigh into a darkness
which will never have proximity, to take into oneself
the entire perfume, the whole yeast and vibration
and seethe of that which will always remain
aloof, a desire so unrelenting it might easily turn
any blood or pistil at its deepest crux
to majestic purple.

I don’t know what it is that a pineywoods lily,
with all her being, might wish for. Yet whatever dearest
thing this lily was denied, it’s clear
she must very greatly have suffered, to be before us now
so striking in her bearing, so fearsome
in her rage.

I just noticed that the page I linked has a typo in one line of the poem... "bird to drink" should be "BIRDS to drink"

My favorite poem is "Eldorado" by Edgar Allan Poe. I memorized it in Cub Scouts:

Gaily bedight,
A gallant knight,
In sunshine and in shadow,
Had journeyed long,
Singing a song,
In search of Eldorado.

But he grew old,
This knight so bold,
And o'er his heart a shadow
Fell as he found
No spot of ground
That looked like Eldorado.

And, as his strength
Failed him at length,
He met a pilgrim shadow.
"Shadow," said he,
"Where can it be,
This land of Eldorado?"

"Over the mountains
Of the Moon,
Down the Valley of the Shadow,
Ride, boldly ride,"
The shade replied,
"If you seek for Eldorado!"

That's an awesomely dark poem for a Cub Scout, Hugh. :)

I loved Poe at an early age, too. My mom was a Poe fan as well, so nobody thought it was weird that a 10-year-old was reading "Fall of the House of Usher" and etc.

“At the Quinte Hotel” is a favorite of mine. Written by Al Purdy, a favorite of of Charles Bukowski, it is here performed by Gord Downie of The Tragically Hip. I love this poem. It comes from a place I know. If nothing else it will likely be new to your audience.

And a toast to you Westy. Best bartender ever. Hope you are well wherever you may be.

Link here. Clearly the beautiful yellow flowers have killed of a few brain cells.

Marvell
...a fine and private place, but none I think do there embrace...

I'm not helping. It will mean I have nothing to share when I get back, and I already used my favourite poem, Daddy, by Sylvia Plath.

Give Misha hell for me!

This is one I learned at school, and which has stuck with me ever since.

The Red Cockatoo

Sent as a present from Annam
A red cockatoo.
Coloured like the peach-tree blossom,
Speaking with the speech of men.
And they did to it what is always done
To the learned and eloquent.
They took a cage with stout bars
And shut it up inside.

Link here.

I've recited Dorothy Parker's "Resume" (Razors pain you.....)at a karaoke/poetry night.

I like The Song of the Happy Shepherd by Yeats, quite a lot.

I can't choose a favourite, but...

The Unknown Citizen
W. H. Auden

He was found by the Bureau of Statistics to be
One against whom there was no official complaint,
And all the reports on his conduct agree
That, in the modern sense of an old-fashioned word, he was a
saint,
For in everything he did he served the Greater Community.
Except for the War till the day he retired
He worked in a factory and never got fired,
But satisfied his employers, Fudge Motors Inc.
Yet he wasn't a scab or odd in his views,
For his Union reports that he paid his dues,
(Our report on his Union shows it was sound)
And our Social Psychology workers found
That he was popular with his mates and liked a drink.
The Press are convinced that he bought a paper every day
And that his reactions to advertisements were normal in every way.
Policies taken out in his name prove that he was fully insured,
And his Health-card shows he was once in hospital but left it cured.
Both Producers Research and High-Grade Living declare
He was fully sensible to the advantages of the Instalment Plan
And had everything necessary to the Modern Man,
A phonograph, a radio, a car and a frigidaire.
Our researchers into Public Opinion are content
That he held the proper opinions for the time of year;
When there was peace, he was for peace: when there was war, he went.
He was married and added five children to the population,
Which our Eugenist says was the right number for a parent of his
generation.
And our teachers report that he never interfered with their
education.
Was he free? Was he happy? The question is absurd:
Had anything been wrong, we should certainly have heard.

my favourite is "Diamonds on my Windshield" by Tom Waits:

Diamonds on my windshield
Tears from heaven
Pullin' in town on the Interstate
Pullin' a steel train in the rain

Wind bites my cheek
Through the wing
Fast flyin' freeway drive
It always makes me sing

Duster tryin' to change my tune
Pullin' up fast on the right
Rollin' restlessly
Twenty-four hour moon

Wisconsin hiker with a cue-ball head
Wishin' he's home in a Wiscosin bed
Fifteen feet of snow in the East
Colder than a well digger's ass

And oceanside it ends the ride
San Clemente comin' up
Sunday desperadoes slip by
Check station close and you cruise by with a dry back

Orange drive-in the neon billin'
Theater's fillin' to the brim
Slave girls and hot spurn
Bucket full of sin

Metropolitan area
Interchange and connections
Fly-by-nights from riverside
Black and white planes out of state, runnin' a little late

Sailors jockey for the fast lane
One O one don't miss it
Rollin' hills and concrete fields
Broken line on your mind

The eights go east and the fives go north
And the merging nexus back and forth
You see your sign, you cross the line
Signal with a blink

Radio's gone off the air and it gives you time to think
Ease it out and you creep across
In a section lights froze out
Hear the rumble as you fumble for a cigarette

Blazin' through this neon jungle
Remember someone that you met
And one more block, the engine talks in whispers,"Home at last"
Whispers, whispers, whispers, "Home at last, home at last"

A list with excerpts.

The Highwayman, Alfred Noyes

Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way.”

The Listeners, Walter De La Mare

For he suddenly smote on the door, even
Louder, and lifted his head:-
‘Tell them I came, and no one answered,
That I kept my word,’ he said.

Miniver Cheevy, Edwin Arlington Robinson

Miniver Cheevy, born too late,
Scratched his head and kept on thinking;
Miniver coughed, and called it fate,
And kept on drinking.

On the Tombs in Westminster Abbey, Francis Beaumont

Here the bones of birth have cried—
‘Though gods they were, as men they died.’
Here are sands, ignoble things,
Dropt from the ruin’d sides of kings;

A Divine Mistress, Thomas Carew

Yet I had been far happier,
Had Nature, that made me, made her.
Then likeness might, that love creates,
Have made her love what now she hates

Dulce Et Decorum Est, Wilfred Owen

My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.

Unfortunate Coincidence, Dorothy Parker

Lady, make a note of this:
One of you is lying.

Aunt Jennifer's Tigers, Adrienne Rich

Aunt Jennifer’s fingers fluttering through her wool
Find even the ivory needle hard to pull.
The massive weight of Uncle’s wedding band
Sits heavily upon Aunt Jennifer’s hand.

Resume, Dorothy Parker

Guns aren’t lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.

If you were coming in the fall, Emily Dickinson

But now, all ignorant of the length
Of time’s uncertain wing,
It goads me, like the goblin bee,
That will not state its sting.

When I was one-and-twenty, Afred Edward Housman

‘The heart out of the bosom
Was never given in vain;
‘Tis paid with sighs a plenty
And sold for endless rue.’

Secret #36, Rumi

When I am with you, we stay up all night.
When you’re not here, I can’t go to sleep.

Praise God for these two insomnias!
And the difference between them.

I felt Funeral, in my Brain, Emily Dickinson

As all the Heavens were a Bell,
And Being, but an Ear,
And I, and Silence, some strange Race
Wrecked, solitary, here—

Upon Julia’s Clothes, Robert Herrick

Whenas in silks my Julia goes
Then, then, (methinks) how sweetly flows
That liquefaction of her clothes.

Next, when I cast mine eyes and see
That brave vibration each way free;
Oh, how that glittering taketh me!

Yeats: Her Praise

Wow, now I have the opposite problem, too many great poems to choose from!

Oh oh oh! You should do a poem from A. A. Milne! When We Were Very Young and Now We Are Six are two good collections of them. Halfway Down is a particularly great one, I think.

It is probably of a completely different tone than most things suggested.

Also the poem for those who suffer from stage fright, The Red Wheelbarrow:
William Carlos Williams

so much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens.

It was an awesome poetry night! Thanks you all so much for your suggestions!

Highlights included a highly clever poem called "An ode to penises", using an online gothic poetry generator, and just hearing some fantastic poems