I just started writing poetry about three months ago. I shared it with some people and they said I should continue, so I did. I loveFrost, Walt Whitman (his older stuff when he was embracing American English in his prose) and Yeats
Freedom speaks and freedom sings
Songs streaked with pain and truth
Astonished me from the rings
Of bells and subterranean things
...
Unknown space, unknown air
Undefined, when darkness stares
Unknown time and unkempt hair
Unknown boys without a care
...
How can life be measured
In greatness or in pleasure?
Or other things we treasure
...
I love the first day of Spring
And the smell of fresh cut grass
I love driving with the top down
And going way too fast
...