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;
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.
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:
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.
Roads not yet glistening, rain slight,
Broken clouds darken after thinning away.
Where they drift, purple cliffs blacken.
And beyond -- white birds blaze in flight.
Sounds of cold-river rain grown familiar,
Autumn sun casts moist shadows. Below
Our brushwood gate, out to dry at the village
Mill: hulled rice, half-wet and fragrant
Quite unexpectedly, as Vasserot
The armless ambidextrian was lighting
A match between his great and second toe,
And Ralph the lion was engaged in biting
The neck of Madame Sossman while the drum
Pointed, and Teeny was about to cough
In waltz-time swinging Jocko by the thumb
Quite unexpectedly to top blew off:
And there, there overhead, there, there hung over
On the top of the mountains
Amidst the flowers and trees
Where the butterflies flutter by
A cool breeze rushed down
Through the valleys low
Between the giant rocks
Where the water flows by
She flew up to the sky
In the garden of friendship, seasons unfold,
A tale of bonds, stories yet untold.
Some friends for a season, like leaves they depart,
Without a reason, they exit the heart.
From wet ones
And everything in-between
What do they all mean?
In Kashmir's November, a season so divine,
Nature paints a masterpiece, a sight so fine.
Mountains stand tall, covered in snowy attire,
As the land becomes a canvas, filled with desire.
As late autumn, after sun set, the wind's song echoes through the trees,
The warmth of a traditional tearoom beckons people at ease.
Departed guests remember the rich taste of herbal tonic tea,
The owner's warm smile welcomes new visitors in glee.
Daylight breaks over the eastern shore, our beloved Captain, sails once more.
With fairwinds and following seas, he sails his vessel into eternity, as his loved ones look out over an empty sea, his final voyage this will be.
He braved the storms and rains that blew, but through it all his smile and laughter shined through.
The tall tales and stories will always remain, and we will retell them all to help ease the pain.
You started to kiss my feet tenderly
When I finally got to relax
I remembered it was very hot
And we both were sleepy
The curatorial passion of Generations X, Y, Z and Alpha...
an adaptive response- - -to swim in an ocean of expressive activity,
Today I'm thankful for all the colors in the world
It's not unorthodox
to be a person who enjoys every color in the box
In days gone, when I was going on a journey,
You whispered, 'No more school, my son.
Be a lighthouse, enough with the fuel.
Your light will shine bright, trust me, it's true.'
When I was young I remember owning a box of 64 Crayola crayons…
It came with a sharpener on the back too…
I remember of all those 64 crayons…my favorite color was blue.
Snakes, My Pets
In our compound we had a small pond. The water from it was used for irrigating the coconut palms, arecanut palms and the vegetable garden during summer. We used to call it a "kokkarani"(1) .
In the absence
You left behind
If you die before me
I would jump down into your grave
and hug you so innocently
that angels will become jealous.
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 low lands call
I am tempted to answer
They are offering me a free dwelling
Without having to conquer
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:
(This is a composition in Pilipino Language the first one I did, the only one, and hope some of the Filipinos will get this funny poem in this site. The poem is updated with English translation)
Noong taong otsenta dekada
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 -