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.
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.
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:
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.
Light flows our war of mocking words, and yet,
Behold, with tears mine eyes are wet!
I feel a nameless sadness o'er me roll.
Yes, yes, we know that we can jest,
We know, we know that we can smile!
But there's a something in this breast,
To which thy light words bring no rest,
And thy gay smiles no anodyne.
Give me thy hand, and hush awhile,
And turn those limpid eyes on mine,
And let me read there, love! thy inmost soul.
Alas! is even love too weak
To unlock the heart, and let it speak?
Are even lovers powerless to reveal
To one another what indeed they feel?
I knew the mass of men conceal'd
Their thoughts, for fear that if reveal'd
They would by other men be met
With blank indifference, or with blame reproved;
I knew they lived and moved
Trick'd in disguises, alien to the rest
Of men, and alien to themselves--and yet
The same heart beats in every human breast!
But we, my love!--doth a like spell benumb
Our hearts, our voices?--must we too be dumb?
Ah! well for us, if even we,
Even for a moment, can get free
Australia's a big country
An' Freedom's humping bluey,
An' Freedom's on the wallaby
Oh! don't you hear 'er cooey?
She's just begun to boomerang,
She'll knock the tyrants silly,
She's goin' to light another fire
And boil another billy.
Our fathers toiled for bitter bread
Sailing the sea of unknowns and dubiety,
Salt air and a vast blue sky are present, apex in their variety.
Uncertainty is my lover; depression is my son,
Born from fickleness, but loneliness is constant; it's where all began.
Seeing the new island from the horizon,
To open one's arms to the vagabond is a chance to become wizen.
As this vagabond turns into the anchor of my life,
It vanishes like a ghost in the full moon night while playing the fife.
The side of Haebanchon, and the garden is located in beside of the wide roads
Fall breeze refreshing, trees chatter each other waving cladodes,
The lotus blossoms bloom, the ducks swim, the reeds sing in windy,
In these high buildings, as if I've already forgotten that I'm in the city
On the tree before the East window of the traditional house, a bird sings its song,
By the royal tomb, beside the stone-wall, the side road is the foreign migrant's avenue.
The friendship blooms again once more for a thousand years, long,
Transcending time, this pan-Asian ancient love beautifully grew.
Myth of my path was
weird. It does not take a turn. Only
stops midway. You can take hemlock.
After war, for sixty long years, held captive in enemy lands,
As a prisoner of war, forgotten for so long, he escaped in empty hands,
To hometown, returning with snowy hair, without a welcome. But no wife,
His solitary burial ceremony reveals his distorted and unhappy life.
Flower drops down
Flower gets fade
Like colour Brown
Ben Franklin munched a loaf of bread while walking down the street
And all the Philadelphia girls tee-heed to see him eat,
A country boy come up to town with eyes as big as saucers
At the ladies in their furbelows, the gempmun on their horses.
how could it be the beautiful words that I loved
struck down at midday by all those who won't say
a thing one golden thing but cliché
how could It be
I'll drown myself in words and books
In a different dimension
In a different world
Away from this shitty reality
What, ennobling the spirit
Did also once nurture.
This classic archetecture -
The gods were onto it!
many poems written a poet may assume will never be read
poet sole reader had to read these poems to write them
poet may abandon the poem mid writing after completed
poet found some need some desire to write inner words
poets who write poems privately
secretly expressing feelings like a diary
poets writing poems never to be read
poets assuming poems will never be read
Civilization has come to a cold standstill
you can't get divinity candy in any grocery store now
two decades or so ago they even stocked pink divinity
maybe flavored with amaretto
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.
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
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:
(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 -