August Poems - Poems For August

August poems from famous poets and best august poems to feel good. Most beautiful august poems ever written. Read all poems for august.


August - Poem by Dorothy Parker

When my eyes are weeds,
And my lips are petals, spinning
Down the wind that has beginning
Where the crumpled beeches start
In a fringe of salty reeds;
When my arms are elder-bushes,
And the rangy lilac pushes
Upward, upward through my heart;

Summer, do your worst!
Light your tinsel moon, and call on
Your performing stars to fall on
Headlong through your paper sky;
Nevermore shall I be cursed
By a flushed and amorous slattern,
With her dusty laces' pattern
Trailing, as she straggles by.

Comments about August by Dorothy Parker

  • Mofokeng Sylvester Molise 8/1/2018 3:27:00 AM

    I was bon in August the 18th 1985... so this poem is very special to me. Reply

    0 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
  • Queeny Gona 9/6/2013 5:41:00 AM

    Amazing write.Beautiful imagery. Reply

    4 person liked.
    1 person did not like.
  • Michael Lasalle 7/19/2012 4:09:00 PM

    The imagery is a beautiful realm where the words cast an open meadow of wild flowers rolling as far as
    the eyes can see, the sense of youth and eternity are entwined into one concept. What is time to a physical existence? And how do we control it? The mindset is a masterful play of pastel color and a depth that
    reaches new understanding.
    Reply

    5 person liked.
    3 person did not like.
  • Jessica Hughes 3/26/2011 3:47:00 PM

    vivid contrast, the beginning and ending of youth Reply

    3 person liked.
    2 person did not like.
  • Cynthia Buhain-baello 6/29/2009 6:51:00 AM

    Perfect imagery and vivid picturesque masterpiece! Clever and creative style that interweaves content with the meaning - amazing talent! Reply

    3 person liked.
    2 person did not like.
August Poems
  1. 1. August
    Dorothy Parker
  2. 2. Dark August
    Derek Walcott
  3. 3. August
    Boris Pasternak
  4. 4. August 8th
    Anne Sexton
  5. 5. August 17th
    Anne Sexton
  6. 6. August 1914
    Isaac Rosenberg
  7. 7. California Hills In August
    Dana Gioia
  8. 8. An August Midnight
    Thomas Hardy
  9. 9. A Call For August
    Sandra Fowler
  10. 10. A Calendar Of Sonnets: August
    Helen Hunt Jackson
  11. 11. August Moonrise
    Sara Teasdale
  12. 12. Remorse. (From August Von Platen)
    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
  13. 13. August
    Hans Christian Andersen
  14. 14. ' [ Late August ] '
    Ency Bearis
  15. 15. [month Of] August
    Hilaire Belloc
  16. 16. In August
    Paul Laurence Dunbar
  17. 17. Composed By The Sea-Side, Near Calais, A..
    William Wordsworth
  18. 18. Composed Near Calais, On The Road Leadin..
    William Wordsworth
  19. 19. Calais, August 1802
    William Wordsworth
  20. 20. Calais, August 15, 1802
    William Wordsworth
  21. 21. August Hands
    Lorraine Margueritte Gasrel ..
  22. 22. August Leading...
    Theodora (Theo) Onken
  23. 23. August Moon
    Emma Lazarus
  24. 24. August Moon
    Bonnie Collins
  25. 25. August
    Algernon Charles Swinburne
  26. 26. The Shepherd's Calendar - August
    John Clare
  27. 27. (be Strong Now) My Night With Her In Au..
    Justin Gildow
  28. 28. ! Song Of August!
    Rema Prasanaa
  29. 29. Memorials Of A Tour In Scotland, 1803 I..
    William Wordsworth
  30. 30. A Book Of Strife In The Form Of The Diar..
    George MacDonald
  31. 31. ***********on August 21,2008
    Frank Lisa IndiRa Francesca ..
  32. 32. Lines Written In August
    Thomas Babbington Macaulay
  33. 33. Grant At Rest-- August 8, 1885
    James Whitcomb Riley
  34. 34. The Shepheardes Calender: August
    Edmund Spenser
  35. 35. August
    Edith Nesbit
  36. 36. Last August Hours Before The Year 2000
    Naomi Shihab Nye
  37. 37. August
    James Whitcomb Riley
  38. 38. August
    Elinor Morton Wylie
  39. 39. *809 Peridot Birthstone Of August
    John Knight
  40. 40. I Am Sorry Pakistan On 14th August, Inde..
    Shamin Bashir Shah
  41. 41. Climbing Milestone Mountain, August 22, ..
    Kenneth Rexroth
  42. 42. The Wind’s Tidings In August 1870
    Augusta Davies Webster
  43. 43. 15th August,1998 In India
    Dr. A.Celestine Raj Manohar ..
  44. 44. Mid-August
    Duncan Campbell Scott
  45. 45. August Tidings
    Usha Pisharody
  46. 46. It Was August I Remember, I Remember Whe..
    Sean Joyce
  47. 47. August Is The Dying Month
    Wanda Swim Strunk
  48. 48. In August
    Katharine Lee Bates
  49. 49. August
    Jean Blewett
  50. 50. Two In August
    John Crowe Ransom

New August Poems

  1. Autumn, Simon Laszlo
  2. Victory Day Untitled Heroes, Bulent Karaalioglu
  3. "The Lord Is Good, A Stronghold In .., Roxanne Dubarry
  4. August Full Sturgeon Moon...., Sylvia Frances Chan
  5. May I Have Your Attention....?, Sylvia Frances Chan
  6. The Balmy Month Of August, Dennis Spilchuk
  7. Brother Wasp, Dennis Ryan
  8. Sum Sonnet, emebet mesfin
  9. In Illowa In August, Francis Duggan
  10. Goodbye August 2018- A Doomsday Month, alexander opicho

August Poems

  1. August 17th

    Surely I will be disquieted by the hospital, that body zone- bodies wrapped in elastic bands, bodies cased in wood or used like telephones, bodies crucified up onto their crutches, bodies wearing rubber bags between their legs, bodies vomiting up their juice like detergent, Here in this house there are other bodies. Whenever I see a six-year-old swimming in our aqua pool a voice inside me says what can't be told... Ha, someday you'll be old and withered and tubes will be in your nose drinking up your dinner. Someday you'll go backward. You'll close up like a shoebox and you'll be cursed as you push into death feet first. Here in the hospital, I say, that is not my body, not my body. I am not here for the doctors to read like a recipe. No. I am a daisy girl blowing in the wind like a piece of sun. On ward 7 there are daisies, all butter and pearl but beside a blind man who can only eat up the petals and count to ten. The nurses skip rope around him and shiver as his eyes wiggle like mercury and then they dance from patient to patient to patient throwing up little paper medicine cups and playing catch with vials of dope as they wait for new accidents. Bodies made of synthetics. Bodies swaddled like dolls whom I visit and cajole and all they do is hum like computers doing up our taxes, dollar by dollar. Each body is in its bunker. The surgeon applies his gum. Each body is fitted quickly into its ice-cream pack and then stitched up again for the long voyage back.

  2. August 8th

    Listen here. I've never played it safe in spite of what the critics say. Ask my imaginary brother, that waif, that childhood best friend who comes to play dress-up and stick-up and jacks and Pick-Up-Sticks, bike downtown, stick out tongues at the Catholics. Or form a Piss Club where we all go in the bushes and peek at each other's sex. Pop-gunning the street lights like crows. Not knowing what to do with funny Kotex so wearing it in our school shoes. Friend, friend, spooking my lonely hours you were there, but pretend.

  3. August

    This was its promise, held to faithfully: The early morning sun came in this way Until the angle of its saffron beam Between the curtains and the sofa lay, And with its ochre heat it spread across The village houses, and the nearby wood, Upon my bed and on my dampened pillow And to the corner where the bookcase stood. Then I recalled the reason why my pillow Had been so dampened by those tears that fell- I'd dreamt I saw you coming one by one Across the wood to wish me your farewell. You came in ones and twos, a straggling crowd; Then suddenly someone mentioned a word: It was the sixth of August, by Old Style, And the Transfiguration of Our Lord. For from Mount Tabor usually this day There comes a light without a flame to shine, And autumn draws all eyes upon itself As clear and unmistaken as a sign. But you came forward through the tiny, stripped, The pauperly and trembling alder grove, Into the graveyard's coppice, russet-red, Which, like stamped gingerbread, lay there and glowed. And with the silence of those high treetops Was neighbour only the imposing sky And in the echoed crowing of the cocks The distances and distances rang by: There in the churchyard underneath the trees, Like some surveyor from the government Death gazed on my pale face to estimate How large a grave would suit my measurement. All those who stood there could distinctly hear A quiet voice emerge from where I lay: The voice was mine, my past; prophetic words That sounded now, unsullied by decay: 'Farewell, wonder of azure and of gold Surrounding the Transfiguration's power: Assuage now with a woman's last caress The bitterness of my predestined hour! 'Farewell timeless expanse of passing years! Farewell, woman who flung your challenge steeled Against the abyss of humiliations: For it is I who am your battlefield! 'Farewell, you span of open wings outspread, The voluntary obstinacy of flight, O figure of the world revealed in speech, Creative genius, wonder-working might!'

  4. Dark August

    So much rain, so much life like the swollen sky of this black August. My sister, the sun, broods in her yellow room and won't come out. Everything goes to hell; the mountains fume like a kettle, rivers overrun; still, she will not rise and turn off the rain. She is in her room, fondling old things, my poems, turning her album. Even if thunder falls like a crash of plates from the sky, she does not come out. Don't you know I love you but am hopeless at fixing the rain ? But I am learning slowly to love the dark days, the steaming hills, the air with gossiping mosquitoes, and to sip the medicine of bitterness, so that when you emerge, my sister, parting the beads of the rain, with your forehead of flowers and eyes of forgiveness, all with not be as it was, but it will be true (you see they will not let me love as I want), because, my sister, then I would have learnt to love black days like bright ones, The black rain, the white hills, when once I loved only my happiness and you.