Anonymous Poems

1. Epilogue To The Padlock 8/11/2015
2. Nerve thy soul with doctrines noble 10/15/2015
3. Sir Gowther 10/27/2015
4. Emare 10/27/2015
5. Sir Degare 10/27/2015
6. Erle of Tolous 10/27/2015
7. Lay le Freine 10/27/2015
8. Although things are not perfect 11/10/2015
9. The Devil's Nine Questions 11/25/2015
10. The Cruel Mother 11/25/2015
11. Christmas Presents 12/14/2015
12. The Bridge Builder 2/3/2016
13. I Shall Be Married on Monday Morning 2/16/2016
14. Twelfth Song of Thunder 2/19/2016
15. Moo, Moo, Brown Cow 3/25/2016
16. The Owl and the Fox 7/20/2016
17. Santa's New Idea 12/14/2015
18. On A Tired Housewife 3/20/2015
19. Red River Valley 11/14/2015
20. The Nameless Maiden 3/20/2015
21. Little Lessons 3/20/2015
22. I'll Stretch It a Little 2/3/2016
23. The Unquiet Grave 7/14/2015
24. Christmas is Coming 12/14/2015
25. I Eat My Peas with Honey 7/22/2015
26. Sister Without Peer 2/12/2015
27. The Night After Christmas 12/14/2015
28. Lend a Hand 2/3/2016
29. Death Of An Innocent 3/21/2015
30. There Once Was A Man From Nantucket 2/3/2015
31. It Takes Courage 1/3/2015
32. May In The Green-Wood 1/4/2003
33. The Bonny Earl Of Murray 1/4/2003
34. Phillada Flouts Me 1/4/2003
35. When Flora Had O'Erfret The Firth 1/4/2003
36. Godfrey Gordon 1/3/2003
37. The Braes O'Yarrow 1/3/2003
38. O Burr 1/4/2003
39. Midnight Special 1/3/2003
40. The Miracle Of Friendship 12/9/2014

Comments about Anonymous

  • josh hardy (10/30/2018 6:56:00 PM)

    is this the hacker group called anonymous

    0 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
  • Carrie Hawk (9/26/2018 11:21:00 PM)

    That was supposedto poetess. Sorry. Couldn'tfind a way to edit once posted.

  • Carrie Hawk (9/26/2018 11:19:00 PM)

    This poem is not anonymously written. Will Allen Drumgoole is the hostess. She was born in Murfreesboro, Tennessee before the Civil War to the town's mayor and his wife. She was a prolific writer. The poem is about her father and a footbridge he built.

  • NotAPoet (9/19/2018 6:50:00 PM)

    I can't dance.
    I hear the rhythm, I tap my feet.
    I feel the music but I am still.
    I am nothing.
    I laugh, I write, I feel nothing.
    I am counterfeit.
    I have not known suffering or loss.
    I have never had less than everything.
    I am happy.
    I am empty.

  • Britte Ninad Britte Ninad (8/14/2018 12:56:00 AM)

    mastermind advice writer - old is gold

  • Mahadev saudanoor (7/14/2018 4:28:00 AM)


  • Mahadevi pillai (6/25/2018 5:48:00 AM)

    Nice poem

  • Anony-Mous (6/24/2018 6:57:00 AM)

    The need to speak, but your lips lock. You can't breathe. Suffocating in your dark dreams, both night and day.
    How to speak again? How to open the lock when the key sunk to the bottom of your ocean of tears.
    In this hurt you stand lonely and ashamed. Ashamed for that what the monster did, while the beast is running free.

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Best Poem of Anonymous

Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

To every thing there is a season,
and a time to every purpose under the heaven:
A time to be born, a time to die;
a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;
A time to kill, and a time to heal;
a time to break down, and a time to build up;
A time to weep, and a time to laugh;
a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together;
a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
A time to get, and a time to lose;
a time to keep, and a time to cast away;
A time to rend, and a time to ...

Read the full of Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

The Old Cloak

THIS winter's weather it waxeth cold,
   And frost it freezeth on every hill,
And Boreas blows his blast so bold
   That all our cattle are like to spill.
Bell, my wife, she loves no strife;
   She said unto me quietlye,
Rise up, and save cow Crumbock's life!
   Man, put thine old cloak about thee!

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