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:
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.
Star, that gives a gracious dole,
What am I to choose?
Oh, will it be a shriven soul,
Or little buckled shoes?
Shall I wish a wedding-ring,
Bright and thin and round,
Or plead you send me covering-
A newly spaded mound?
Gentle beam, shall I implore
Gold, or sailing-ships,
Or beg I hate forevermore
A pair of lying lips?
Swing you low or high away,
Burn you hot or dim;
My only wish I dare not say-
Lest you should grant me him.
An omnibus across the bridge
Crawls like a yellow butterfly,
And, here and there a passer-by
Shows like a little restless midge.
Big barges full of yellow hay
Are moored against the shadowy wharf,
And, like a yellow silken scarf,
The thick fog hangs along the quay.
O God almighty,
sacrifice for you what then
if life is so cheap?
One needs perfect vision
To see what all lies ahead.
One needs a loving heart
To care for others with a smile.
Will these songs fly even higher?
From a mask they'll make an even poorer
artifice, reducing the
ashes of their life experience,
Barnstable Boggs, Barnstable Boggs, was there ever a soul like Barnstable Boggs? His house is a wreck an affront to the eye, the windows are troubled with grime. The roof in its way is in upmost decay, nowhere is it's equal you'll find. His excuse for a door is a shambles and no more, the hinges have rotted with age, and the last time the garden had seen a sharp blade, was when Olivier last took to the stage. The wallpapers torn, how the furnitures worn, and the carpets "Club Med" for the mites. The most that can be said, about Barnstable's bed, is the wonder it can last through the night. His clothes they are frayed, for the years have been payed, by instalments of hardship and stress, his shoes full of holes, and his socks are so old, they resemble Liz Hurley's old dress. Breakfast and Tea are what's leftover from lunch, as Dinner and Supper are united in Brunch. He works from first dawn to the closure of day, in a Labouring role for a pittance of Pay. Barnstable Boggs, Barnstable Boggs, was there ever a soul like Barnstable Boggs? So what did I spy just the other night, stood standing in shadows deep? Boggs and a lady friend both hand in hand, a Rendezvous to keep. And so it hit me, hard, and my heart began to sigh. That Barnstable with sweetheart had now found love, which made him more fortunate and richer than I.
We The Poets Of PoemHunter, In An Immortal Way
just now and then
sharing thoughtful words and remarks full of love
My mother slept
In the Corner of the filed
Dont digging the land...
In the way of new her journey
A small coconut is covered with outer husk
Just remove it slowly and carefully to see
The hard part of brown husk as the second layer,
When the second layer is broken with much care,
'It's possible, '
'It's impossible, '
The green hills and the fields of corn, that sway in the breeze. The skylark hovering above the blue horizon. The essence of this land is the people who have a joy and a gift of spirit with genuine warmth which charms your heart.
জলের স্রোতে ভেসে গেল ওরা
মহাকাল দিলো ডাক,
মহামায়া কি নির্মম নির্বাক!
Turn on the tv, pick up any paper, evil abounds in this world of turmoil, we are on the precipice of a world war that cannot be won, complete extinction their are no winners. Pray for peace, and hope for humanity to endure this time.
The torn manuscript
Of the masterpiece
In the deepest core
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
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....
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.
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
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.