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
I want you to know
You know how this is:
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;
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too:
The free bird leaps
on the back of the wind
and floats downstream
till the current ends
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.
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.
Lo! Death has reared himself a throne
In a strange city lying alone
Far down within the dim West,
Where the good and the bad and the worst and the best
Have gone to their eternal rest.
There shrines and palaces and towers
(Time-eaten towers that tremble not!)
Resemble nothing that is ours.
Around, by lifting winds forgot,
Resignedly beneath the sky
The melancholy waters he.
No rays from the holy heaven come down
On the long night-time of that town;
But light from out the lurid sea
Streams up the turrets silently-
Gleams up the pinnacles far and free-
Up domes- up spires- up kingly halls-
Up fanes- up Babylon-like walls-
Up shadowy long-forgotten bowers
Of sculptured ivy and stone flowers-
Up many and many a marvellous shrine
Whose wreathed friezes intertwine
The viol, the violet, and the vine.
Resignedly beneath the sky
The melancholy waters lie.
So blend the turrets and shadows there
That all seem pendulous in air,
While from a proud tower in the town
Death looks gigantically down.
I too was a poet once O life of my words, but I cannot remember
Since I have forgotten you the love of my art too, I cannot remember
Yesterday during a coversation with my heart I learnt
that any forelock, lips, any mouth, I cannot rememeber
In the city of intellect insanity is quiet as if
the very spontainety the rabid fluidity of his speech, he cannot rememebr
Firstly I was not familiar with the mannerisms required for ruins
A steadfast smile courts incoming waves,
raucously lapping in song.
Undulant dominion yields prayers,
of sailors yearning to come home.
Her lips acclaim dulcet words,
torn from heaven's horizon.
Empathy echoes throughout,
Above frigid lurch clouds.
Tricks of the trade, all poets are not fake,
With ink and words, their artistry they make.
Some use metaphors, others use rhyme,
Твоя душа на самоті
Надгробок сірий, думи ті —
Нікого, настрій темний,
When tiny drops of rain,
Crosses bright sunlight,
It brings a prettiest sight.
Був літа екватор
І серед ночі,
І зірки на місці,
Тьмяні, без мочі,
The world once pristine, oh how it did gleam
with virgin nature so pure and serene
untouched by man, it flourished with life
with mountains, seas and forests so rife.
Love me right,
and there won't be any room for doubt, embedded in my heart.
Because your perfect love will make me secure.
मैंने तेरे नाम सारी, ज़िंदगी कर दी
ख़्वाबों में~तन्हाइयों की, सादगी भर दी
क्यों सितमगर-ए-खुदाई, कैसी होती~हैं जुदाई
कितना सक्त होता है, दूरी का गम
Which dream is floating in thine eyes?
Why tears thou shed in darkish night?
A flickering flame of hope art thou
For aching hearts a mirthful sight
In this Sunday of May
When the heat is unbearable
I will go to sit under the shade of
A tree and jot down some poems
The tears flow
Like dew drop from the
Leaves of the eyelids
Love in its attire of
The cool morning breeze
Comes abruptly to caress my face
A forgotten kiss of the beloved
The silky hair flowing like
She was cute on the high of her beauty.
She had considered a good talent.
I had not known her name.
Her talent was not for any ability.
Your presence is near
I wish you were here
1. Take a shower you don't want to smell.
2. Pick out an outfit that will blend in with the latest trends and won't make you a laughing stock of the school more than you already are
3. Put on some makeup so you can't even recognize yourself and your face tingles with an unbelievable issue. You can't satisfy otherwise you'll have ruined the hours of meticulous painting you apply to your face.
I will never forget you my dearest soulmate..
these old meomries will never fade...
you've always laid me in your shade...
whenever I trembled or felt afraid....
Poetry is sexy
Its lyrics aim to please
My pan head
Mine you are
And Yours I am
He was before his beloved,
Kneeling on his thighs……..
His shoulders were down,
With his soulful cries…….
I was like a withered flower in a barren desert,
till I breathed your smile that brought life to my heart.
I was like a homeless child looking for a shelter.
As most Nigerians remain ruefully lukewarm
about President Buhari's second term bid;
an ever-increasing multitude of potential
voters across ethnic divides, seem to be
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 -
"Faith" is a fine invention
When Gentlemen can see—