Philip Larkin has been mentioned already in this thread. The following two poems by Larkin inspire me in a backwards sort of way.
This first one, "Next, Please" reminds me that we can't just wait for something amazing to happen in our lives, thinking that some day it surely will all on its own. We need to be proactive and make things happen.
Next, Please
Always too eager for the future, we
Pick up bad habits of expectancy.
Something is always approaching; every day
Till then we say,
Watching from a bluff the tiny, clear
Sparkling armada of promises draw near.
How slow they are! And how much time they waste,
Refusing to make haste!
Yet still they leave us holding wretched stalks
Of disappointment, for, though nothing balks
Each big approach, leaning with brasswork prinked,
Each rope distinct,
Flagged, and the figurehead with golden tits
Arching our way, it never anchors; it's
No sooner present than it turns to past.
Right to the last
We think each one will heave to and unload
All good into our lives, all we are owed
For waiting so devoutly and so long.
But we are wrong:
Only one ship is seeking us, a black-
Sailed unfamiliar, towing at her back
A huge and birdless silence. In her wake
No waters breed or break.
Second is Larkin's Poem "To Failure", which remindes me that I likely will not fail spectacularly, but slowly everyday, almost without notice, when I let the day slip away without achieving at least one small step towards a goal.
To Failure
You do not come dramatically, with dragons
That rear up with my life between their paws
And dash me butchered down beside the wagons,
The horses panicking; nor as a clause
Clearly set out to warn what can be lost,
What out-of-pocket charges must be borne,
Expenses met; nor as a draughty ghost
That’s seen, some mornings, running down a lawn.
It is these sunless afternoons, I find,
Instal you at my elbow like a bore.
The chestnut trees are caked with silence. I’m
Aware the days pass quicker than before,
Smell staler too. And once they fall behind
They look like ruin. You have been here some time.
Finally, as technical people, we can get so absorbed in what we are doing that we forget the importance of fostering the relationships around us with those we love:
Without Mercy, the Rains Continued (by David St. John)
There had been
A microphone hidden
Beneath the bed
Of course I didn't realize it
At the time & in fact
Didn't know for years
Until one day a standard
Khaki book mailer
Arrived & within it
An old
Stained cassette tape
Simply labeled in black marker
"Him / Me / September 1975"
& as I listened I knew something
Had been asked of me
Across the years & loneliness
To which I simply responded
With the same barely audible
Silence that I had chosen then