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.
The people upstairs all practise ballet
Their living room is a bowling alley
Their bedroom is full of conducted tours.
Their radio is louder than yours,
They celebrate week-ends all the week.
When they take a shower, your ceilings leak.
They try to get their parties to mix
By supplying their guests with Pogo sticks,
And when their fun at last abates,
They go to the bathroom on roller skates.
I would love the people upstairs wondrous
If instead of above us, they just lived under us.
The man with the red hat
And the polar bear, is he here too?
The window giving on shade,
Is that here too?
And all the little helps,
My initials in the sky,
The hay of an arctic summer night?
Drops dead in sight of the window.
There's a wind that sweeps through the day and night,
And like the lightning goes,
But none have heard the sound of its wings,
And none know whither it blows;
But where'er it comes the thoughts of men
Are like clouds together hurled,
As they are carried with mystic speed
Over the crazy world.
We see no waving of leafy boughs,
Nor heave of the purple sea;
If by chance I could relive my life
I will make more mistakes
will relax and be more sillier
Prasing every second of my life
As the moon sighs,
The stars are adrift,
in the evenings warm
For as The Moon looks down upon our weary race, The Sentry who's loyalty is by his Vigilance kept. Has seen every triumph, folly and woeful disgrace, In the Glacial light that is dutifully swept. And as the Centuries turn and onward flow, Our features are Stained with times moving pace. But by his self the evidence does show, An ageless face that of Empyrean grace. Such an reticent child of extreme occasional joy, A presence from a much turbulent birth. The Heavens and more does his worth employ, And a serene companion to an unstable Earth. Bathed in Pale light the Countryside now lies, In quiet repose from Shire to Sea. Is this how The Creator really foresaw our lives, To live in such peace as it was once deemed to be. So; What of The Moon As he lays his bold sight, On Man's struggle to be, to strive for, to exist. Every War that is played in the name of what's right, In the name of what's right could we ever desist? So please patient Moon that is now watching down, Forgive all our Boisterous wrongful days. For there it is shown by your pale Vigil found, To us all there is Pity within your irradiant soft gaze.
The night is cold, I'm all alone
my camp is out of sight,
The fire cracks as I sit
beside the dying light.
I do not want to think.
Don't want to judge. Who am I.
Brooding savagely of death and laughing.
I was a vibrant, portrait painter, bringing cherished profiles to eternal life,
Like undying life of balmy springtime, recurring in shades of green so rife.
I had long been fascinated with new faces, for it is seldom, two are alike,
Ce n'est pas la demultiplication
des paroles qui font le sage.
Reopening the dirty wound to—
To clean it out.
To clear the dirt and infections and orange leaves
It is lukewarm, the afterlife.
She is why.
I want Death's warm embrace to—
To take me to a place I truly belong.
the breathing in and out
of a decent soul
without a trace
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....
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.
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 -