The Essence of Poetry. And Why We Should Read Poems Regularly

Poetry helps us to loosen up. It's a great escape from all the noises of the world. It also widens our perspective and how we see the world. It helps us understand life better. It also reduces the feeling of isolation and emptiness.

The rich words in poetry help us to appreciate ourselves and the things around us. Thus, we need to read poems regularly to stay healthy mentally, emotionally, and physically.

Here are some of the best poems I have ever read:

 “Most of the time I am sunk in thought, but at some point on each walk there comes a moment when I look up and notice, with a kind of first-time astonishment, the amazing complex delicacy of the words, the casual ease with which elemental things come together to form a composition that is – whatever the season, wherever I put my besotted e – perfect.” - Billy Bryson

Risk, by Anaïs Nin

And then the day came, 

when the risk remains tight, 

in a bud was more painful than the risk
it took to blossom.

Hope is the thing with feathers, by Emily Dickinson

“Hope” is the thing with feathers –
That perches in the soul –
And sings the tune without the words –
And never stops – at all –

And sweetest – in the Gale – is heard –
And sore must be the storm –
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm –
I’ve heard it in the most chill land –
And on the strangest Sea –
Yet – never – in Extremity,
It asked a crumb – of me.

The Guest House, by Rumi

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.

He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice.
meet them at the door laughing and invite them in.

Be grateful for whatever comes.
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

Love After Love, by Derek Walcott

The time will come
when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other’s welcome,
and say, sit here. Eat.

You will love again the stranger who was yourself.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you
all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.

Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,
the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.

Acquainted with the Night, by Robert Frost

I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain—and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.

I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.

I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,
But not to call me back or say goodbye;
And further still at an unearthly height.

One luminary clock against the sky
Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.
I have been one acquainted with the night.