Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned out backs,
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame, all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.
Gas! GAS! Quick, boys! - An ecstasy of fumbling
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime.-
Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams before my helpless sight
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin,
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,-
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
The life that I have
Is all that I have
And the life that I have
The love that I have
Of the life that I have
Is yours and yours and yours.
A sleep I shall have
Where is my Dyana!
playing like a crazy child
playing with it's prey before
where is my Dyana..
walking with it's four legs
and it's shining eye
with a smelling capacity
where is my Dyana!
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.
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;
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:
You & me here and
Wednesday,15th Sept 2021
You asked me several times
Up to my 200th poem
I wrote normally
But after that
I wrote differently.
Hope in despair
Tuesday,14th Sept 2021
H...Healing of wounds
Give her a hand and
Tuesday,14th Sept 2021
Give her leaning
Mankind is not the kind of Man you see on the street of life
Mankind is a spiritual force that opens chapter after chapter of knowledge
Feeding on the juices of knowledge to try and elevate its consciousness
It is the toxic juices of some of this knowledge that are poisonous to the spirit of Man
No poet has yet
Recieved nobel prize
By self publishing
A few books!
ଆମେ କଣ ଯାହା ହରାଇଥିଲେ, ତାହା ପାଇବା ପରେ ହିଁ ତାର ମୂଲ୍ୟ ବୁଝିବା?
କେବଳ ରାସ୍ତାର ଅପର ପାର୍ଶ୍ଵ ରେ ଥିବା ସବୁଜିମା ପ୍ରତି ଆଗ୍ରହ କରିବା?
ଯେଉଁ ରାସ୍ତାରେ ଆମେ ଏବେ ଯାଇ ପରି ନାହାନ୍ତି,
Pretty damsel gone
With her pitcher water-filled;
'Drop dead, ' he said.
'I can't.' I replied.
'And why not? , ' he ask.
'I already died! '
I have studied
Rose Marie so well.
I have read all
I don't find
(Not Nabakishore Das)
The low lands call
I am tempted to answer
They are offering me a free dwelling
Without having to conquer
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 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:
No earthquake, no thunder, no volcanic eruption
Or even there was not any of other natural calamities,
A sudden loud sound broke out all through the bush
With whizzing, shuddering, cracking, tearing, echoing,
If you die before me
I would jump down into your grave
and hug you so innocently
that angels will become jealous.
As you see universally
There is a great fall
Let love stretch its hands being universal
To love and teach us to love all,
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.