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.
Art thou pale for weariness
Of climbing heaven and gazing on the earth,
Among the stars that have a different birth,
And ever changing, like a joyless eye
That finds no object worth its constancy?
Our Father thou art in Heaven,
in water, in air
in all our silent and broad latitude
everything bears your name, Father in our dwelling:
your name raises sweetness in sugar cane
Bolivar tin has a Bolivar gleam
the Bolívar bird flies over the Bolivar volcano
the potato, the saltpeter, the special shadows,
the brooks, the phosphorous stone veins
everything comes from your extinguished life
He is alone in the night,
But he has a good heart that glows with light.
He gives a lot and expects nothing back,
In a world that is cold and black.
He is kind and follows the right path,
But evil people make him suffer their wrath.
But he does not change or lie,
Because he wants to make the world a better sky.
Fellow summer-winged whimsey.
Whose passing, the lightest breeze
Which had impelled, and with ease
Smiled o'er from on high?
Trite and childish! He'll need more
To feel it. For, cry.
For each act of love, bright-faced
A suspicion, on our minds
Is naturally cast.
It is to be expected.
Hopeless, aside from it
A heart, for faith's lack;
Pathetic, inspiring more fear
Further up life's track;
the king mislaid his
blueprint for the stars
and cries at night
Eight Billion, Forty-Five Million, Three Hundred Eleven Thousand, Four Hundred Forty-Seven
Since I'm one of them, I wonder where is my Love located and when I'll meet you? ? I also pray for every Soul to find redemption in this life time.
[to my Grandmother, Lucy W. Young, my Grandfather Milton B. Young and to Hans Christian Andersen and the Brothers Grimm, among others...thank you! and thanks are due to God since as a friend once said, 'God gives us the fairytales to show us the way home... '(P.S. To my mother too, of course. Mary Adalyn Young-Douglas, who spoke in syllables of strawberry and utter cream all the time. really.) , my charming sister too, daughter of music, Sharon)
around the fairytale's gem-stoned page are sun splattered leaves and berries softening the borders ferny angels lightly penciled in beyond the trees that shift like pedaled dreams
(with ref. to the 'a mon seul desir' Lady with The Unicorn medieval tapestry at the Cluny Museum in Paris i only saw in a book, but nevertheless, cherish)
shed no tears, fond Unicorn
I saw a battled frame
housing a black
and white photo
of a hero
Van Gogh To His Brother, Undated Letter, Summer,1891
[to my brother, Alan Leslie Douglas]
the yellow leaves were falling
They say bad habits die hard
I do not want this one to die at all
They say I have changed or even gone mad
I say to them that it is not my fault I had a great fall
my blood was pouring into him
while his blood stuck
my feet to the floor
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.
Beautiful is the 'thank you'
Wrapped with gratitude,
Offered to peace prone people
Who offer what is real-themselves
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
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 -