I enjoy poetry and usually take a book of it bush - although these days my Kindle holds most of my reading matter, it's a great tool but will never fully replace a book. A tip; poetry should be read aloud so even if you're reading it to yourself , read aloud.

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Robert Frost (1874 to 1963) is probably my favourite poet, such insight into life yet presented simply and clearly.

Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

Robert Frost
New Hampshire
1923

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John Betjeman  (1906 to 1984) English Poet Laureate, a master of simple whimsical verse.
"Slough" (pronounced to rhyme with plough (USA = plow)) expressed his concern at the development of cheap, low quality housing in this London satellite town, it's not much better now!

Slough

Come friendly bombs and fall on Slough!
It isn't fit for humans now,
There isn't grass to graze a cow.
Swarm over, Death!

Come, bombs and blow to smithereens
Those air -conditioned, bright canteens,
Tinned fruit, tinned meat, tinned milk, tinned beans,
Tinned minds, tinned breath.

Mess up the mess they call a town-
A house for ninety-seven down
And once a week a half a crown
For twenty years.

And get that man with double chin
Who'll always cheat and always win,
Who washes his repulsive skin
In women's tears:

And smash his desk of polished oak
And smash his hands so used to stroke
And stop his boring dirty joke
And make him yell.

But spare the bald young clerks who add
The profits of the stinking cad;
It's not their fault that they are mad,
They've tasted Hell.

It's not their fault they do not know
The birdsong from the radio,
It's not their fault they often go
To Maidenhead

And talk of sport and makes of cars
In various bogus-Tudor bars
And daren't look up and see the stars
But belch instead.

In labour-saving homes, with care
Their wives frizz out peroxide hair
And dry it in synthetic air
And paint their nails.

Come, friendly bombs and fall on Slough
To get it ready for the plough.
The cabbages are coming now;
The earth exhales.

John Betjeman
1937

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Philip Larkin (1922 to 1985) was once described as "a casual, habitual racist, and an easy misogynist" - Gawd! He must have really had it in for black women! :)

Larkin is a little dark in his perception of people, sometimes I think he's right and sometimes I think he's wrong but he did ruffle feathers in the British establishment and that has to be a good thing. This poem is his most well known (for obvious reasons) and is a terrific poem with which to introduce teenagers to poetry.

This Be The Verse

They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
  They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
  And add some extra, just for you.

But they were fucked up in their turn
  By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
  And half at one another's throats.

Man hands on misery to man.
  It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
  And don't have any kids yourself.

Philip Larkin
1971

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Spike Milligan (1918 to 2002) the inimitable, brilliant, crazy Spike Milligan. Best known for his role in The Goons and books about his army life Spike was a troubled soul who suffered significant mental illness but, without question, was a creative genius.

Amongst his many other works he wrote some poetry and his "Nonsense poetry" is particularly suitable and amusing to young children (and this aged adult too :) ) but the following untitled work is simply beautiful and touches those of us who have loved and lost.

Strange lovers may caress you
but once, long ago
you were mine forever.
So should I reach into that past
and touch you with invisible fingers
don't move away.