Ghosts poems from famous poets and best beautiful poems to feel good. Best ghosts poems ever written. Read all poems about ghosts.
Oh, give us pleasure in the flowers to-day;
And give us not to think so far away
As the uncertain harvest; keep us here
All simply in the springing of the year.
...
One Christmas was so much like another, in those years around the sea-town corner now and out of all sound except the distant speaking of the voices I sometimes hear a moment before sleep, that I can never remember whether it snowed for six days and six nights when I was twelve or whether it snowed for twelve days and twelve nights when I was six.
...
What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,
I have forgotten, and what arms have lain
Under my head till morning; but the rain
Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh
...
Abortions will not let you forget.
You remember the children you got that you did not get,
The damp small pulps with a little or with no hair,
The singers and workers that never handled the air.
...
On Raglan Road on an autumn day I met her first and knew
That her dark hair would weave a snare that I might one day rue;
I saw the danger, yet I walked along the enchanted way,
And I said, let grief be a fallen leaf at the dawning of the day.
...
Prepare, prepare the iron helm of war,
Bring forth the lots, cast in the spacious orb;
Th' Angel of Fate turns them with mighty hands,
And casts them out upon the darken'd earth!
...
The brooding ghosts of Australian night have gone from the bush and town;
My spirit revives in the morning breeze,
though it died when the sun went down;
...
I
O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being,
Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead
...
I
1 Our brains ache, in the merciless iced east winds that knife us ...
2 Wearied we keep awake because the night is silent ...
...
A process in the weather of the heart
Turns damp to dry; the golden shot
Storms in the freezing tomb.
A weather in the quarter of the veins
...
At midnight, in the month of June,
I stand beneath the mystic moon.
An opiate vapor, dewy, dim,
Exhales from out her golden rim,
...
Out on the high "bird islands," Ciboux and Hertford,
the razorbill auks and the silly-looking puffins all stand
with their backs to the mainland
in solemn, uneven lines along the cliff's brown grass-frayed edge,
...
Knows he who tills this lonely field
To reap its scanty corn,
What mystic fruit his acres yield
At midnight and at morn?
...
Go from me, summer friends, and tarry not:
I am no summer friend, but wintry cold,
A silly sheep benighted from the fold,
A sluggard with a thorn-choked garden plot.
...
Shadows on the wall
Noises down the hall
Life doesn't frighten me at all
...
Light breaks where no sun shines;
Where no sea runs, the waters of the heart
Push in their tides;
And, broken ghosts with glowworms in their heads,
...
Your hair is lost in the forest,
your feet touching mine.
Asleep you are bigger than the night,
but your dream fits within this room.
...
.
the ghosts are walking again
walking and talking in the night again
sorrow is eating my bones again
...
what does this mean.
to see walking men
wrapped in the color of death,
to hear from their tongue
...
The moonlight breaks upon the city's domes,
And falls along cemented steel and stone,
Upon the grayness of a million homes,
Lugubrious in unchanging monotone.
...
The sun sets and divides.
It leads to death or to eternity.
Ghosts call to the trenches.
With a trace, each step muddies us.
...
The House Of Ghosts
The house of ghosts
I looked inside this house
...
Hanging in the forest there are ghosts.
They wander aimless in the fade.
While their bodies lay in decay, engrossed.
...
In Palestine
Doves cry on the breeze.
Of ghosts and ghosts of
...
She twentyfour then leaving the clubhouse dim as she walked out she an artist that no one knew only one does that is her childhood friends came wondering if something had happened but yet she realized she remembers once she stepped out of the clubhouse since she volunteers at the Al khor international school brtish stream she was then 25 she can only speak English does it makes her an English She speaks Spanish does it means she a Spanish she grown up a heartbeat of roses a golden vocal been searching by her childhood brothers a dute need a comeback it's so quite ever since she gone memories live on through the childhood memories she since how all her childhood brothers approach the landmark in the city heartbeat of Doha Qatar people mistake her as indian but true she has blood of a royal of jordanian and indonesian but resmbol of her late grandmother who live through her a last wise from a late ghosts that has gone in past prayer is in her mute sadness of her eyes and heartbeat can read by the brothers that she knew her life fill colour and kindness rose her life to others a duet need a comeback it's so quiet ever since she gone memories live on through the childhood memories since she about to leave all her childhood brothers approach the landmark in the city heartbeat of Doha Qatar people mistake her as Indian caused her beauty resmbol so many nationality but true is she has blood of a royal Jordanian and Indonesian but a resmbol of her late grandmother who live through her last wise from late ghosts that have gone in a past prayer is in her mute sadness of her eyes and a heartbeat can read by the brothers that she knew her life fill a colour, and a kindness rose her life to others.
...
She struggles to get loose.
She looks for a way to get out but realises there none.
Let me go!
...
She believes in ghosts,
Cold, cold, cold spectre,
And I'm having trouble seeing-
So she showed me something better
...
We Are All Ghosts
Pravat Kumar Mandal
Now, no need for darkness to see the ghosts
...
Trees frozen red in snow as if wearing tattered wind jackets Snow crunches underfoot As night rushes by with newly soled shoes Goats fear the loneliness and for their own ears Transform their bleating into wailing On the road a cow has just given birth Is covered in whip marks and lies panting in mud and blood Streetlights are on early and lovers dark like rocks Stand there with hazy faces against a metallic spiritual bed The field mouse is a weary nurse and furtively Sneaks through a wound in the garden to dream Flowers pale red flesh preserved underground Like when a child dies there is always a young ghost Stars not fully formed lock us behind an iron fence 2 Those who distrust language the most are poets In white snow roses wilt at birth And flames are far away from a pair of chilly hands Winter is busy like a hardworking editor I am snipped by the sunlight And bend to smell the worsening stench of my corpse In the north wind of one person the garden died long ago Existing for ghosts and finally returning to ghosts Blue music of tree and tree arises from the sheer loneliness So the same big snowfall twice falls from my shoulders Covering the garden I am forgotten Trudging up to the road I become a mistake And like a hoarse throat in the light of the deserted street Chant withered words bearing witness to many years
...
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