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;
The free bird leaps
on the back of the wind
and floats downstream
till the current ends
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:
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.
That boy I took in the car last night,
With the body that awfully sagged away,
And the lips blood-crisped, and the eyes flame-bright,
And the poor hands folded and cold as clay --
Oh, I've thought and I've thought of him all the day.
For the weary old doctor says to me:
"He'll only last for an hour or so.
Both of his legs below the knee
Blown off by a bomb. . . . So, lad, go slow,
And please remember, he doesn't know."
So I tried to drive with never a jar;
And there was I cursing the road like mad,
When I hears a ghost of a voice from the car:
"Tell me, old chap, have I `copped it' bad?"
So I answers "No," and he says, "I'm glad."
"Glad," says he, "for at twenty-two
Life's so splendid, I hate to go.
There's so much good that a chap might do,
And I've fought from the start and I've suffered so.
'Twould be hard to get knocked out now, you know."
"Forget it," says I; then I drove awhile,
And I passed him a cheery word or two;
But he didn't answer for many a mile,
So just as the hospital hove in view,
Says I: "Is there nothing that I can do?"
The lovely things that I have watched unthinking,
Unknowing, day by day,
That their soft dyes have steeped my soul in colour
That will not pass away -
Great saffron sunset clouds, and larkspur mountains,
And fenceless miles of plain,
And hillsides golden-green in that unearthly
Clear shining after rain;
Nagging pain, loose tooth
Taking the day's importance
Unable to chew food.
Seeking help, sat in dental chair
Mouth open, injection given
Tooth pulled, pain gone
Once more happily chewing food.
I am living my life betraying my childhood,
my old age, and
my old age.
Midsummer's warm currency
Borrowed from the south
Whispers of the souk
Permeate the still air
I was a public relations specialist, ever promoting positivity to people,
As positivity is promoted afar, by the sight of the towering cathedral.
My work was very interesting, there weren't ever two days the same,
The cause of world dismay
Now determines each day
I listen to
The great song of the anonymous singer,
It comes to my sleepy world
From the farthest land
Yesterday I slept full day
After dinner I got a message from Kamu
'Are you ok?
if yes, come tonight.'
When I entered in Kamu's room
it was 11.50
I switched on the light
he was waiting for me
A tribute to a salesman
(When I inquired at the counter of Tulip Town to buy something to feed my grandson, i was informed that the counter was then closed.However seeing the baby in my arms the counter salesman obliged with a pony packet of cookie with a smile, saying a big Hi)
Take me to that place.
The one you have always said was there
if I looked hard enough.
When I was a child, I would peer into
By Anna Polibina-Polansky. I will be reread and recalled as a half of Cocteau and the other half, of Verlaine. As a broche over a Proustian lady and a pin at the lock of Dickinson herself. Auden and Frost will pave my best path along a lake shore. Rimbaud and Baudlaire and Eloire will comprise a mosaical vitrage over my patio where I was in habit of feeding trouts and peacocks with rye and rice crumbs. These were slice of toasts from the delicate cuisine none would have boasted with. The only announcement ornated a forsaken coffehouse that faced the immaculately even water diligently reflecting the dusk of marblish strokes. I caught the refined, accurate tan of twilight as I compounded new morphology and syntax for habitual, trite, plain, colorless phrasings. It was back at an outskirt of Geneve or Bern, probably in voiceful Solothurn of roaming, lonesome fiddles. Violins trade silence, infinity trades serenity, no puns are the best fun. Figurative talking is worthy of walking. The gloomy nook is of bloom, yet. Romand and French beggars pray out spots of foamy coffee with toasts. Foreseen, is best fee; change is kept for a rare tea.2022
Please don't come back to my country
Dont roll up in my backyard
You'll find life has shriveled up
And its softness has gone hard
The sea is a hungry dog,
Giant and grey.
He rolls on the beach all day.
With his clashing teeth and shaggy jaws
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,
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
Your presence is near
I wish you were here
1. Take a shower you don't want to smell.
2. Pick out an outfit that will blend in with the latest trends and won't make you a laughing stock of the school more than you already are
3. Put on some makeup so you can't even recognize yourself and your face tingles with an unbelievable issue. You can't satisfy otherwise you'll have ruined the hours of meticulous painting you apply to your face.
I will never forget you my dearest soulmate..
these old meomries will never fade...
you've always laid me in your shade...
whenever I trembled or felt afraid....
Poets Dance in the heart of rhythms
Discussion spoken in the pen
Energy being tampered with in the music
Limitations rarely occur in audio-silence
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.