His death poem:
A bath when you're born,
a bath when you die,
Translated by Robert Hass
In the land of the Bumbley Boo
The People are red white and blue,
They never blow noses,
Or ever wear closes,
What a sensible thing to do!
In the land of the Bumbley Boo
You can buy Lemon pie at the zoo;
They give away foxes
In little Pink Boxes
This is not poetry,
That is not poetry,
Then what's poetry?
Poetry is about
It's not just
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;
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:
Waiting like we're set in stone,
Waiting like the food's run out,
Awaiting the moment that paycheck comes
Tell me where you are right now
Old man sat on a bench in the park feeding pigeons
Bread from sandwiches, children playing nearby
On swings and roundabouts, proud parents watching
Hearts full of love, joy and hope for their child.
Er is veel gebeurd,
er zijn fouten gemaakt, dozen --
A lot has happened,
mistakes have been made, and crates --
What you were yesterday,
You are not that today.
What you are today,
You won't be that tomorrow.
A cook cooked with tainted crockery
Went to eat his food on a rockery
Welcome to Goa
for a political holiday;
tell us of your prowess and prey
tell us of your powers and ways
So many hearts still beating
which you had re-started and mended;
so many homes still cherishing
the kind work you have done
Dawn is a dream
Rebirth of time
Waking from slumber
What a wonder
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
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:
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,
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,
Sweet moment, stay with me,
and pray do not flee so soon,
Let me enjoy the bliss of that
first kiss beneath the moon.
Pounds of pain punctured my progress
Tons of trouble terminated my tranquility
Swarms of stress subtracted my substance
My heart exploded like a thousand thunders
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.