John Lars Zwerenz

Veteran Poet - 1,646 Points (1-5-69 / Kew Gardens, New York, USA)

John Lars Zwerenz Poems

161. Ode To Spring (A Sonnet) 5/31/2013
162. The Lake 4/27/2014
163. On Entering Heaven 5/6/2014
164. A Voyage To Cyprus 2/21/2013
165. Lethe (A Sonnet) 11/6/2013
166. The Grave Of Charles Baudelaire 2/19/2015
167. Andalusia 5/16/2015
168. Alchemy 2/14/2013
169. Women 2/13/2014
170. The Muse 2/15/2014
171. Purgatory 5/26/2014
172. To You, My Love 12/14/2015
173. To My Future Bride 6/9/2014
174. I Ventured Out Beneath The Moon... 12/9/2013
175. A Lady Fair 5/11/2014
176. The Rose Garden 1/22/2015
177. Love 3/13/2014
178. Our Love 7/31/2013
179. An Angel's Song 1/17/2015
180. Ladies And Men 1/30/2014
181. A Gypsy's Life 2/8/2013

Comments about John Lars Zwerenz

  • Angela Bradford (7/1/2017 10:31:00 AM)

    John Lars Zwerenz is the greatest poet in the world still living. His Eternal Verse is a literary masterpiece. Angie Bradford, Boston, MA

    17 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
  • Veronica Grimaldi Veronica Grimaldi (4/19/2016 3:45:00 PM)

    John Lars Zwerenz is the best contemporary poet in America. Veronica Grimaldi

  • Leann Howard Leann Howard (2/24/2016 9:30:00 AM)

    John Lars Zwerenz is without any doubt the greatest poet of the 21st Century, by miles. His verse is without flaw, always astonishing, and I have read all of his works. LeAnn Howard

Best Poem of John Lars Zwerenz

A Gypsy's Life

A gypsy am I, as I rove on the downy dale;
Aside from the taverns, the fields are my only vale.
I drink from my carafe a fairy-fermented brew,
And I dream of fair love, beneath a radiant sky of blue.

I carry within my satchel a book of romantic rhyme;
I wield it when I may, and write as I did of old: -
Of a sable-haired girl, whose gaze is of a raven-gold.
Her dress is white and long, and her hair is of an elysian clime.

I am struck by visions beside the lane,
On starry October nights, laved by the autumn rain,
And I sleep beneath the myrtles, musing ...

Read the full of A Gypsy's Life

Ode To Edgar Allan Poe

ODE TO EDGAR ALLAN POE

The tall, ruined tower, by the sea of sable wine,
Where silver stars alight, in the moonless night,
Is the seat of a raven which rarely takes flight;
Its dark eyes look down on the scorpions of the brine.

With each chilling breeze that poison billows carry
From dusky, northern currents of the half-swallowed pier,

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