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
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;
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
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.
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.
A little Dog that wags his tail
And knows no other joy
Of such a little Dog am I
Reminded by a Boy
Who gambols all the living Day
Without an earthly cause
Because he is a little Boy
I honestly suppose -
The Cat that in the Corner dwells
Her martial Day forgot
The Mouse but a Tradition now
Of her desireless Lot
Another class remind me
Who neither please nor play
But not to make a 'bit of noise'
Beseech each little Boy -
THAT crazed girl improvising her music.
Her poetry, dancing upon the shore,
Her soul in division from itself
Climbing, falling She knew not where,
Hiding amid the cargo of a steamship,
Her knee-cap broken, that girl I declare
A beautiful lofty thing, or a thing
Heroically lost, heroically found.
The locality is barren in the sword of antichrist.
I hear the spiral sound again and again - that's the cannon!
What brought darkness in exchange for light !
I see, , how cruel the whole world is !
They don't see women, they do not see infants
Reminiscing the days of no worries
Fun and excitement are all she carries
She used to wake up each day full of bliss
Oh, work and friends! She doesn't want to miss!
365 days there is,
But like yesterday it feels.
Twelve months congeal,
But time just seems to tick.
Each language has it's own beauty…
perhaps that's why people travel the world seek them…
I imagine, just like me,
they would someday like to speak them…
I was finally able to go home from so many problems
of various kinds in a world, not at ease with itself.
Have you ever seen with your naked eyes…
A bud becoming a flower?
A pupa becoming a butterfly?
A bee pollinating a flower?
Wise find ways to reach their visionary Destination; Action
Some wander around but still make it; Determination
Some just get lost midway or find new ways; distraction
Real Lucky ones make their own way, Destiny; Proaction.
(written some time ago on Supermoon night)
(reeds lang geleden geschreven, weer terug-
gevonden en nu pas submitted, Sylvia Frances Chan)
At the Zaporizhzhia nuclear power plant
on which Russia did previously open fire,
for personnel Russians control to grant,
under a false flag attack it may become dire,
Like a painter searching for something perfect for his canvas,
its years that I am searching for you
where you are beautiful in the great memories
and I want to entrust my whole life and everything to you,
In every life some rain must fall,
Though wherefrom heaven knows.
With passing years, the storm may call,
The tempest comes and goes.
Buffalo Bill opens a pawn shop on the reservation
right across the border from the liquor store
and he stays open 24 hours a day,7 days a week
Mary, sweet peace and dearest consolation
of suffering mortal: you are the fount whence springs
the current of solicitude that brings
Born to laugh
Smile and play
Above us, stars. Beneath us, constellations.
Five billion miles away, a galaxy dies
like a snowflake falling on water. Below us,
some farmer, feeling the chill of that distant death,
Sharing my heart isn't easy to do,
Closed off by scares from another untrue,
Guarded and cautious bearing armor within,
Makes it so hard to dare to love once again.
Your soul is like a painter's landscape where
charming masks in shepherd mummeries
are playing lutes and dancing with an air
of being sad in their fantastic guise.
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.