Sideways poems from famous poets and best beautiful poems to feel good. Best sideways poems ever written. Read all poems about sideways.
Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight,
Alone and palely loitering?
The sedge is withered from the lake,
And no birds sing.
It is an ancient Mariner,
And he stoppeth one of three.
`By thy long beard and glittering eye,
Now wherefore stopp'st thou me ?
In Baltimore there lived a boy.
He wasn't anybody's joy.
Although his name was Jabez Dawes,
His character was full of flaws. In school he never led his classes,
When all of a sudden the city air filled with snow,
the distinguishable flakes
looked like krill
IN SEVEN PARTS
Facile credo, plures esse Naturas invisibiles quam visibiles in rerum
universitate. Sed horum omnium familiam quis nobis enarrabit? et gradus et
maggie and milly and molly and may
went down to the beach(to play one day)
This is not bad --
ambling along 44th Street
with Sonny Rollins for company,
his music flowing through the soft calipers
`You know Orion always comes up sideways.
Throwing a leg up over our fence of mountains,
And rising on his hands, he looks in on me
Busy outdoors by lantern-light with something
Out walking in the frozen swamp one gray day,
I paused and said, "I will turn back from here.
No, I will go on farther -- and we shall see."
The hard snow held me, save where now and then
I felt it overjoyed
When I saw
An idol of Kali
Cowboys riding in the Phoenix desert, being thrown from bucking bulls here behind Outlaws.
Little children in the mutton bronc's, holding on for dear life, getting thrown in spite of how tightly they hold on.
Just a leg,
A dark black leg
Red-colour water painted
Sideways of the foot
A windy and a wet October day
But in the woodland just across the way
A yellow robin's ticking song I do hear
His kind in the wood can be heard at most times of year
you mean it would be a sin not to mention the swans here. sex is silence, love—uh—seeping. at the end blips remain to be seen: a flag, a fling. we winged it! maybe not sensible, but without fairy tales, longer hair/langour/longueur of sense. death sentence. off from that i see the specter's bird lid: how it shoves sideways before the lens. which was to be proven: one can throb for everything, the eyes don't fall out of the head, the stillness, even after the worst flattening blows, could move the nothing: not not not not. in its end, its bedeutung. signed, hölderling.
Variation/alternate translation by Traver Pam Dick (previously unpublished)
She speaks to me in hieroglyphics. In a row of tiny pictures. Each one brightly coloured. And finely detailed. Each picture never quite straight, always facing sideways. She speaks quickly, one image following another. A long row of them, and then more after that. Her hair is dark as Anubis, her blue eyes of Horus outlined in black. A golden cobra lies coiled around her head. Whenever she speaks, I find myself mesmerized by this endless row of images. Crafted in arcane language, one after the other. A row of brightly-painted hieroglyphics. I wish I knew what she was trying to say
drifting with the clouds so gently
gently uplifting and oversteering so purposely
Big brother's skeletal wardrobe, Felix at a good week before passing.
The one-eyed selfie, too relaxed for a sick man.
Sideways ill, sideways frozen, sick and happy in cursed warm shoes.
Blue eyes closed for the blinding flash of fashionable mirrors.
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