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This site exists for one purpose only: to help dispel the ugly myth that poetry is boring. Granted, a lot of poetry is boring, but you won't find it here. At Your Daily Poem, you'll find poetry that is touching, funny, provocative, inspiring, and surprising. It may punch you in the gut, it may bring tears to your eyes, it may make you laugh out loud, but it most assuredly will not bore you.

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Remember: a poem a day keeps the doldrums away!

Eugene O'Neill


Weary am I of the tumult, sick of the staring crowd,
Pining for wild sea places where the soul may think aloud.
Fled is the glamour of cities, dead as the ghost of a dream,
While I pine anew for the tint of blue on the breast of the old Gulf Stream.

I have had my dance with Folly, nor do I shirk the blame;
I have sipped the so-called Wine of Life and paid the price of shame;
But I know that I shall find surcease, the rest my spirit craves,
Where the rainbows play in the flying spray,
’Mid the keen salt kiss of the waves. 

Then it’s ho! for the plunging deck of a bark, the hoarse song of the crew, 
With never a thought of those we left or what we are going to do; 
Nor heed the old ship’s burning, but break the shackles of care 
And at last be free, on the open sea, with the trade wind in our hair.

This poem is in the public domain.




Eugene O’Neill (1888 - 1953) was an American journalist, poet, and playwright. Born in a Times Square hotel to itinerant parents (his father was a stage actor), he spent his childhood on the road, his teens in boarding school, and his young adult years in a drunken stupor. Eventually, he sobered up and began to write plays, evolving to a level of excellence that earned him four Pulitzer prizes for drama and a Nobel prize for literature. Eugene’s plays are intense, and intensely personal, full of the tragedy that marked his life. Bleak as they are, the world can’t seem to get enough of them; O’Neill is second only to Shakespeare as the most widely translated and produced dramatist in history. Ironically, he died as he was born--in a hotel. When Eugene’s daughter, Oona, married Charlie Chaplin.(she was18, he was 54--the same age as her father.), Eugene disowned her and never saw her again.



Post New Comment:
Fine poem. It's interesting that, although the words 'so called' extended the line and didn't help the scansion, he included them. I have had my dance with Folly, nor do I shirk the blame; / I have sipped the so-called Wine of Life and paid the price of shame; /
Posted 05/06/2015 01:15 AM
Wilda Morris:
Beautiful. It is indeed reminiscent of John Masefield's poem. I would like to live along a sea shore for a month or more. Then maybe I could write a good poem about the ocean.
Posted 05/05/2015 11:18 PM
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