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.
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.
The free bird leaps
on the back of the wind
and floats downstream
till the current ends
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.
As you are Young, if you'l be also Wise,
Danger with Honour court, Quarrels despise;
Believe you then are truly Brave and Bold,
To Beauty when no Slave, and less to Gold;
When Vertue you dare own, not think it odd,
Or ungenteel to say, I fear a God.
Lovers whose lifted hands are candles in winter,
Whose gentle ways like streams in the easy summer,
For secret setting of a child, love what they do,
Thinking they make that candle immortal, those streams
And yet do better than they know.
So the first flutter of a baby felt in the womb,
Its little signal and promise of riches to come,
As dusk descends, the twilight paints its hue,
A canvas swathed in whispers of the night.
The heavens, like a curtain draped askew,
Reveal the stars, ablaze with golden light.
Each twinkle winks, a secret to unfold,
A tale of dreams that flicker in the dark.
The moon, a pearl amidst the vastness cold,
Serenades silence with its silver arc.
To be surrounded by the mountains, in the still of a Scottish summer evening, the only noise is the flow of fresh water cascading down the glen. The pine trees stand like sentinels clinging to the ancient land. An eagle glides overhead a magnificent sight to behold. Michael Cochrane © 2023
Punishment in inverse proportion to the deeds of making up made multiplied by the rate of their continuity - and vice-versa
A Thinker and a Soul
Hand in hand they were for mutual benefit.
There was a Whistler in that Night
When I went out into the mists and chills
I say he too was a fine Poet Seer
And in the light of moon and stars
Though the Dawns come one after one
Sentinels one by one a colonnade
A colonnade of white
So much the pain, the angst, the suffering
Is it the Wisdom Bird?
She reads the signs of night, the stars, the moons
The heavens immense.
A Spirit I become
A Night Spirit.
And roll down the jagged rock
wherefore so old, old Mtahleb?
You Age slow-millimetrical
And I would that naked from the flesh
Too heavy come the Words
Too heavy come the Lines
A Plodding Hammer is the Flow
In the River of Verses.
It saw not end but walked
The Wall of Snails
As Soul to Soul attached
Clarify your Thrust
Poet Seer you know not
Where go you
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....
Poetry is sexy
Its lyrics aim to please
I was like a withered flower in a barren desert,
till I breathed your smile that brought life to my heart.
I was like a homeless child looking for a shelter.
............sitting here in the stillness
...............staring out the window
...at darkness my friend and my foe.
My pan head
Mine you are
And Yours I am
He was before his beloved,
Kneeling on his thighs……..
His shoulders were down,
With his soulful cries…….
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 -
"Faith" is a fine invention
When Gentlemen can see—