Poems
Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
...
You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may tread me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.
...
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
...
Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.
...
Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
...
It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of ANNABEL LEE;
...
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.
...
The free bird leaps
on the back of the wind
and floats downstream
till the current ends
...
The most important thing we've learned,
So far as children are concerned,
Is never, NEVER, NEVER let
Them near your television set -
...
Writing a poem is not about bringing some words together to create some charming sentences. It's so much deeper than that. Writing poetry is a bridge that allows people to express their feelings and make others live every single word they read. Poetry is to educate people, to lead them away from hate to love, from violence to mercy and pity. Writing poetry is to help this community better understand life and live it more passionately. PoemHunter.com contains an enormous number of famous poems from all over the world, by both classical and modern poets. You can read as many as you want, and also submit your own poems to share your writings with all our poets, members, and visitors.
The city's all a-shining
Beneath a fickle sun,
A gay young wind's a-blowing,
The little shower is done.
But the rain-drops still are clinging
And falling one by one -
Oh it's Paris, it's Paris,
And spring-time has begun.
I know the Bois is twinkling
In a sort of hazy sheen,
And down the Champs the gray old arch
Stands cold and still between.
But the walk is flecked with sunlight
Where the great acacias lean,
Oh it's Paris, it's Paris,
And the leaves are growing green.
The sun's gone in, the sparkle's dead,
There falls a dash of rain,
But who would care when such an air
Comes blowing up the Seine?
And still Ninette sits sewing
Beside her window-pane,
When it's Paris, it's Paris,
And spring-time's come again.
...
WHEN cold December
Froze to grisamber
The jangling bells on the sweet rose-trees--
Then fading slow
And furred is the snow
As the almond's sweet husk--
And smelling like musk.
The snow amygdaline
Under the eglantine
Where the bristling stars shine
...
The kite was flying
A cosmogyral conspiracy
The kite can be anything
The alliances are parasitic,
Not symbiotic
The Minerva
Elocution day… crowd!
She was vocal, irrelevant
The kite was flying, torn but
Freedom is everything
...
All things considered
I've passed my seventy-third year.
I'm entering my seventy-fourth
Still glad to be here.
...
Read it,
Read it now
With your mind's eye,
You will realise....
...
i miss all the things.
the before things.
the untouched things.
the innocent things
...
Beyond the tracks
where the streetlights twitch like dying neurons,
and the pavement bleeds secrets no one wants to know
veins map escape routes,
...
Love always came, but never in my size.
Too big to hold, slipping through my fingers,
or too small, choking me in its seams.
I wore it anyway
...
When the Bankers become judge and jury
the prison is the only place
to stay out of insanity! M
...
West Cliff Hall, Ramsgate
It breaks my heart,
to see such a sight;
...
Voor mij betekent de dood niet het dikke Zwarte doek dat alle zinnen blokkeert en je lijf en ziel ergens parkeert. Voor mij betekent dodenherdenking, gedenken te leven in de zin van Memento Mori. De schat ons geschonken in het zien van licht. Dat lachend en huilend, ontroerende kindergezicht. Dat we niet onze blaadjes doen sterven in het feest van licht, het lijkt onze plicht om te groeien zoals alles dat leeft. Maar het innerlijke dient ook te worden gevoed opdat we gedenken. Respect voor de voorgangers die ons pad hebben geëffend. Geen levenslang voor hen die ons ooit een strobreed of meer in de weg hebben gelegd of nog leggen. Het vermogen tot kompas, richting te geven met compassie en met een groot hart om veel te vergeven. De tijd die ons lijkt ontstolen drukt en moedigt aan tot inzicht en tevredenheid voor alles dat en wat we kregen en nog krijgen zullen. De les van Tijd is er een van dankbaarheid en nederigheid voor haar gunst, zonder Tijd geen Leven, maar zonder tijd te gedenken stierven Zij voor niets. Niemand heeft beweerd dat het leven of de mens eenvoudig is. Het allemaal op de koop toe nemen is not done. In een tijd van moraalinflatie ontwaar ik gelukkig de Hoop, de Hoop die de mens en medemens, de burger, je medelander, de straat op doen gaan voor rechten welke kwijnen en zelfs dreigen te verdwijnen. Deze hoop welke in oprechte verpleging te vinden is, de eeuwige zorgen der moeders, laat daarnaast een vijand zien die neigt naar lethargie en of apathie. Het zuivere autisme wordt er door bevlekt en beneveld, het motorisch en dwangmatig zuigen naar de vanzelfsprekendheid, doet ons verloren raken en versterkt onze algemene eenzaamheid. Gedenken te leven tot verwonderings-momenten kunnen geraken, ontmoetingen to coincide, go inside, ont-moeten is de groet der spontaniteit, het geen de slimste en gevoeligste onder ons kan en zal blijven verrassen als we het maar willen blijven zien en omarmen. Dat we niet vastroesten in het verdien model van het broek ophouden, denken dat alles zelf verworvenheden zijn, terwijl alles samenhangt, valt of staat met de verbinding! Het vermogen in de keten van bestaan, dankbaar te blijven en ons steeds weer bewust te zijn of worden, dat het geheel ons schraagt en draagt, niemand kan dat schragen beïnvloeden, dat is alleen de schijn, de waan der dingen, de ijdelheid die lijkt te kunnen zingen. De teerling is geworpen, of was het een zaadje, jij bent daar zelf bij, je kunt en mag kiezen! Gedenk te Leven, Memento Mori opdat we betere mensen mogen worden, verdraagzamer en minder geneigd tot oorlogen, dat we de machinaties van het kwaad, de machtsmisbruik meer leren zien en haar niet meer gedogen, juist omdat, en doordat het een doorn in het oog is van ons aller Harten!
...
Darkness is descending over the town,
And movement in the Harbour has died right down;
I stand, and watch from my hotel window,
As the Harbour lights begin to glow.
...
Through cracked open eyes
Viewing parent peering in
Morning sun screams through
Frost-crystalized windowpane
...
jam in a sandwich
jam upon toast
jam in puff pastry
jam Sunday roast
...
Do you see how the nail takes the blow so the roof doesn't fall on those below
How the anvil sings with each strike, so that none will know of its pain or dislike
Did you see the timber in the mine holding the rock, the man that holds his tongue and talk
A woman frail and mild, now as a mother, gives her life to save her child
...
I dwell
In the absence
You left behind
...
If you die before me
I would jump down into your grave
and hug you so innocently
that angels will become jealous.
...
Beautiful is the 'thank you'
Wrapped with gratitude,
Offered to peace prone people
Who offer what is real-themselves
...
Indoors by technology, outdoors by speedy transport
I travel the world
Today in Japan, tomorrow in Rome,
Next day by an ancient civilization or in Hawaii or Coast Ivory,
...
The low lands call
I am tempted to answer
They are offering me a free dwelling
Without having to conquer
...
The Peace Warrior Of Mzansi, among heroes - a colossus!
Sun Of The Nation; a rare gift of Providence.
Once, entangled in the web of racist succubus;
Unruffled he declares before High Justice:
...
(This is a composition in Pilipino Language the first one I did, the only one, and hope some of the Filipinos will get this funny poem in this site. The poem is updated with English translation)
Noong taong otsenta dekada
...
Love and lust are poles apart.
Lust is chaos, love is art.
...
Rappelle-toi Barbara
Il pleuvait sans cesse sur Brest ce jour-là
Et tu marchais souriante
Épanouie ravie ruisselante
...
you put this pen
in my hand and you
take the pen from you put this pen
...
On this dry prepared path walk heavy feet.
This is not "dinner music." This is a power structure.
...
"Come, pretty birds, present your lays,
And learn to chaunt a goddess praise;
Ye wood-nymphs, let your voices be
Employ'd to serve her deity:
...
If you had the choice of two women to wed,
(Though of course the idea is quite absurd)
And the first from her heels to her dainty head
Was charming in every sense of the word:
...
A little while, a little while,
The weary task is put away,
And I can sing and I can smile,
Alike, while I have holiday.
...
Between us now and here -
Two thrown together
Who are not wont to wear
Life's flushest feather -
...
185
"Faith" is a fine invention
When Gentlemen can see—
...
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5/4/2025 11:41:22 AM # 1.0.0
