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.
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
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.
Once there was a tree....
and she loved a little boy.
And everyday the boy would come
and he would gather her leaves
and make them into crowns
and play king of the forest.
He would climb up her trunk
and swing from her branches
and eat apples.
And they would play hide-and-go-seek.
And when he was tired,
he would sleep in her shade.
And the boy loved the tree....
And the tree was happy.
But time went by.
And the boy grew older.
And the tree was often alone.
Then one day the boy came to the tree
and the tree said, 'Come, Boy, come and
climb up my trunk and swing from my
branches and eat apples and play in my
shade and be happy.'
'I am too big to climb and play' said
'I want to buy things and have fun.
I want some money?'
'I'm sorry,' said the tree, 'but I
have no money.
I have only leaves and apples.
A light is on in my father's study.
"Still up?" he says, and we are silent,
looking at the harbor lights,
listening to the surf
and the creak of coconut boughs.
He is working late on cases.
No impassioned speech! He argues from evidence,
actually pacing out and measuring,
while the fans revolving on the ceiling
I am already down and out
I am almost dead and burning
Give me no more pain
I am already a fallen leaf
Flitting with the wind of summer
Wandering across fields and lanes
Don't think about me
In a few days I will be in the sea
In the tides flowing high and low
Gypsy life and living,
It is good to hear about
Gypsy life and living,
In our country today this might sound funny
But, I've never not once given a politician any money,
Never did I donate it to either he or a she
Because, that politician is already richer than me.
When your child is born you must remember this
They are your love from the very first kiss,
When you brought them into this ugly world
Your heart and your soul and your emotions are all unfurled.
The 'gay boy' that you punched in the hall today
Committed suicide a few minutes ago,
And those homophobic remarks you will continue to say
Though him being gay or not, was not your concern if you must know
poems are notes.
poems are narratives.
poems are symbolic chaos.
poems are emotive machines.
More than what we think and speak, what we do is most important in life;
For, what we do is permanent to say who we are, what we are and all ever;
Schools, colleges, temples and asylums speak ever about the creator of them;
That is the mark one has created in the world for the benefit of all forever sure!
The rain is pounding on the roof,
it makes a rhythmic din,
the metal amplifies the sound,
but won't let it come in.
event of compassion and loving kindness
in quotidian life circles
energy of interoperative acts of human good will
poetry of humanity
The glaring bright beams sneaking through the window silts!
I gaze at them in wonder, for the lone reason...
...that they come from the lamp of eternity;
The holy beams of light brighten the soul with ecstasy;
I look out from behind the screens to see the Real;
The Real is showing up there in his enormous manifestation;
The Real is looking at me with divine smile;
The Real is the reality of my life...
My home is lost in
you, without teaching. The
school is closed. It gives relief.
Those times were good
Carrying me to youth and vigor,
But then I woke- (an unlucky stroke)
For it was then I discovered
Your presence is near
I wish you were here
is the true
of one's soul.
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.
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—