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.
Laughs the happy April morn
Thro' my grimy, little window,
And a shaft of sunshine pushes
Thro' the shadows in the square.
Dogs are tracing thro' the grass,
Crows are cawing round the chimneys,
In and out among the washing
Goes the West at hide-and-seek.
Loud and cheerful clangs the bell.
Here the nurses troop to breakfast.
Handsome, ugly, all are women . . .
O, the Spring-the Spring-the Spring!
Love is not a profession
genteel or otherwise
sex is not dentistry
the slick filling of aches and cavities
you are not my doctor
you are not my cure,
nobody has that
Parallel colors go on forever, others swirling and merging,
Hued rainbows and smoky sunsets, from a chaos surging!
Hanging from the Christmas tree, ruby peppermint candy,
And circus clowns entertain us, attired so gaily and badly.
Often seen on animals, birds, leaves and even mountains,
Coloring all the days of our lives, from mystical fountains!
Arrayed all in purple stripes, the mischievous joker is wild,
Sharing this streaked world where very nature has smiled.
I neither like it racism
The protests I cannot do it
The Dark Continent,
How the tales of its darkness,
Why is it dark?
this road lead?
Left or right?
What's my politics?
Sweet peppers meeting
Very hot peppers
For a cold shower
whisperings of wings
deep drone of summer's old gold
red rose drips petals
Wonder woman I'm strong enough to be
Let me feel
What you are
The great bell rings,
The young traveller wakes up
And starts his holy journey,
The eyes of a poet seem
to be a scanning machine;
They scan through many things
which others try to conceal
"Hello, how do you do? "
"Last year, Delta darling visited me,
Since then, she seems to have been in love with me;