October poems from famous poets and best beautiful poems to feel good. Best october poems ever written. Read all poems about october.
Modern Verse For The Railway
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Vertically they have gone to see the horizon
desert sucks upper water to store in the deep
trees, plants, herbs and grasses are about to die
sunshine reflects on mirages there
mirages elude and mislead the travelers,
If it is difficult to feel your mother
Hard to bear and uneasy to share
See only the animals around you
Relation between mother and cub
Especially when the October wind
With frosty fingers punishes my hair,
Caught by the crabbing sun I walk on fire
And cast a shadow crab upon the land,
The sun's turning pale is a threat, in fact
That directly affects solar system
The climate has already been much changed
With known-unknown, acute poisonous fume;
Every old man I see
Reminds me of my father
When he had fallen in love with death
One time when sheaves were gathered.
All winter your brute shoulders strained against collars, padding
and steerhide over the ash hames, to haul
sledges of cordwood for drying through spring and summer,
for the Glenwood stove next winter, and for the simmering range.
O hushed October morning mild,
Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;
Tomorrow's wind, if it be wild,
Should waste them all.
All sounds have been as music to my listening:
Pacific lamentations of slow bells,
The crunch of boots on blue snow rosy-glistening,
Shuffle of autumn leaves; and all farewells:
January brings the snow,
makes our feet and fingers glow.
February brings the rain,
It was my thirtieth year to heaven
Woke to my hearing from harbour and neighbour wood
And the mussel pooled and the heron
The skies they were ashen and sober;
The leaves they were crisped and sere-
The leaves they were withering and sere;
It was night in the lonesome October
In the sea on the whale
The fishermen threw a pike,
The whale: I am harmless while
You are hurting me deadly deep,
I missed you the other day
When the dew left its diamond glitter upon the grass
And the squirrels and frogs were frolicking merry
When the silence of daybreak calmed
Bangladesh - An Acrostic Verse
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B angladesh, a delta plain country on the Bay of Bengal is geographically,
You said, that October,
In the tall dry grass by the orchard
When you chose to be free,
"Again someday, maybe ten years."
O suns and skies and clouds of June,
And flowers of June together,
Ye cannot rival for one hour
October's bright blue weather;
The month of carnival of all the year,
When Nature lets the wild earth go its way,
And spend whole seasons on a single day.
The spring-time holds her white and purple dear;
Beauty is seen daily in poetic duty every day,
Cutie is our Poem Hunter Family all here say.
Far across the globe poets unite here to write,
In the Shreve High football stadium,
I think of Polacks nursing long beers in Tiltonsville,
And gray faces of Negroes in the blast furnace at Benwood,
And the ruptured night watchman of Wheeling Steel,
Oh, October, thou art a painter bold,
With palette dipped in autumn's richest hues,
A tapestry of red and yellow, told,
In every leaf that in the wind pursues.
OOPS! ! ! As brought to my attention by poet anais vionet,
I, Bri, misnamed this showcase 'October's' when I should
have said November! ! ! Sorry for my mixup/error. I'm OLD.
In late October,
birds still sing sweetly, despite
the fading of light.
They do so naturally
Look at this (the comments left on some of my more recently submitted ' Showcases '; I've NOT included comments left by me) :
Bri's Second October '22 Showcase, This One Built With Poems, Not Bri's Notes....[ Submitted In October, Not September This Time ] Comments
Tuesday, October 18,2022 at 11 a.m. and 2: 26 p.m.; Friday morning, October 21, begun at 8: 12 a.m. and completed at 8: 29 a.m.
I came upon an opening, a clearing
in the foliage—a long expanse of green
I, Bri, thought I might not submit another showcase, but, for Bharati Nayak, I DO.
She is one of the few members who comment, one of the very, very, VERY FEW!
In my last two or three showcases, I gave only notes, not the complete poem texts.
By Bijay Kant Dubey
On October 04,2020 I turned exactly sixty sixty years young.
And I am alive all because of the matchless grace of Jesus Christ,
God's only begotten Son. "There by the grace of God go I." My deceased mother, Eleanor May Dubarry used to say. Her earthly body may have died, but her spirit has never been more alive! "God is not the God of the dead, but the God of the living! " "Hallelujah to the Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world! " She died on about June 4th,2007 shortly after she turned seventy nine years old on May 31,2007.
On June 16,2007 Faith Lutheran Church gave my mother a beautiful memorial service. It was to be the last time I ever saw any of them again. When my Aunt Donna Pennock died about December 23,2018, shortly afterwards I lost contact with her family.
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.