In the harbor passive,
Just where green water calmly sleeps,
Set in the column, strong and massive,
Appeared navy's silent ships.
All four were gray. And many questions
Were shortly overwhelming us,
And sailors, very tanned and fashioned,
To shore in solemn silence passed.
The world became luring and broad,
But once, ships started to depart:
The four of them on their road
Dug in the ocean and night.
The sea obtained the former glow,
The lone beacon sadly twinkled
When on the mast, becoming low,
The last of signals lost the link.
Oh, how little we wait from living -
We are the children - I and you,
You see, the heart is happy, seeing
The smallest part of all that new.
A pocket knife brought you a treasure -
The speck of dust from a far land -
And world again becomes a stranger
That by the colored cloud veiled.
Last night I dreamed of chickens,
there were chickens everywhere,
they were standing on my stomach,
they were nesting in my hair,
they were pecking at my pillow,
they were hopping on my head,
they were ruffling up their feathers
as they raced about my bed.
They were on the chairs and tables,
Of every mischievous act
such as selling white rock crack
or dancing for the virgin Mary
her escape from cover so hurriedly
too sigh above transforms the heavens
singing high as mount Everest
clapping clinginess of what is to come
spin and grasp forever fun
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.
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.
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;
The free bird leaps
on the back of the wind
and floats downstream
till the current ends
Daily Selected Poems: Hasmukh Mehta
Congratulations, dear poet
Thursday,23rd Sept 2021
I am the son of the soil
The very black Afrika I am
My color is dark and lovely
It sings with rhythmic melody of beauty
After the crack of the collision
My Evil twins summons from inferno
Filling me with contemptness of anger and frustration
Standing horrendous, with patched soul
Many broken things
Are rupturing my visions;
Disturbing my dreams.
Our dear lord
We pray for your strength today
To abide with us, we, the people of your beloved
That lived in the home of the brave
Dream- like birds linger.
Sunbursts of sweet morning songs
Hover on the air.
I'm a vagabond
The one that set path
On the journey of life
I'm a hobo
An autumn evening:
A breeze causes the leaves to
Fall from the birch trees.
The low lands call
I am tempted to answer
They are offering me a free dwelling
Without having to conquer
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 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:
If you die before me
I would jump down into your grave
and hug you so innocently
that angels will become jealous.
Sweet moment, stay with me,
and pray do not flee so soon,
Let me enjoy the bliss of that
first kiss beneath the moon.
No earthquake, no thunder, no volcanic eruption
Or even there was not any of other natural calamities,
A sudden loud sound broke out all through the bush
With whizzing, shuddering, cracking, tearing, echoing,
Il pleuvait sans cesse sur Brest ce jour-là
Et tu marchais souriante
Épanouie ravie ruisselante
TO AMARANTHA; THAT SHE WOULD DISHEVELL HER HAIRE.
Amarantha sweet and faire,
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.