Voices poems from famous poets and best beautiful poems to feel good. Best voices poems ever written. Read all poems about voices.
One Christmas was so much like another, in those years around the sea-town corner now and out of all sound except the distant speaking of the voices I sometimes hear a moment before sleep, that I can never remember whether it snowed for six days and six nights when I was twelve or whether it snowed for twelve days and twelve nights when I was six.
Abortions will not let you forget.
You remember the children you got that you did not get,
The damp small pulps with a little or with no hair,
The singers and workers that never handled the air.
When I bring to you colored toys, my child,
I understand why there is such a play of colors on clouds, on water,
and why flowers are painted in tints
- -when I give colored toys to you, my child.
Walking through a field with my little brother Seth
I pointed to a place where kids had made angels in the snow.
For some reason, I told him that a troop of angels
"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:
Rise, brothers, rise; the wakening skies pray to the morning light,
The wind lies asleep in the arms of the dawn like a child that has cried all night.
Come, let us gather our nets from the shore and set our catamarans free,
To capture the leaping wealth of the tide, for we are the kings of the sea!
Music, when soft voices die,
Vibrates in the memory;
Odours, when sweet violets sicken,
Live within the sense they quicken.
An odor has remained among the sugarcane:
a mixture of blood and body, a penetrating
petal that brings nausea.
Between the coconut palms the graves are full
He would declare and could himself believe
That the birds there in all the garden round
From having heard the daylong voice of Eve
Had added to their own an oversound,
Pelican blues, jay walking on velvet souls
Somber and detach, mayhem
Pickering the night of pre dawn
The choir of your anger, screaming
Waking in the night;
the lamp is low,
the oil freezing.
When voices of children are heard on the green
And laughing is heard on the hill,
My heart is at rest within my breast
And everything else is still
When I found the door
I found the vine leaves
speaking among themselves in abundant
To Peace (Shakespearan Sonnet)
O Peace! For ages haven't we invoked
Your grace by chanting your name ceaselessly?
Leafy-with-love banks and the green waters of the canal
Pouring redemption for me, that I do
The will of God, wallow in the habitual, the banal,
Grow with nature again as before I grew.
We are thine, O Love, being in thee and made of thee,
As théou, Léove, were the déep thought
And we the speech of the thought; yea, spoken are we,
Thy fires of thought out-spoken:
As the dim twilight shrouds
The mountain's purple crest,
And Summer's white and folded clouds
All are not taken; there are left behind
Living Belovèds, tender looks to bring
And make the daylight still a happy thing,
And tender voices, to make soft the wind:
Long long I lay in the sands
Sounds of trains in the surf
in subways of the sea
Fantastic voyage. Fantastic voyage. Mirable visions, pretty voices. Keeping the void inside. No word, no cry. Crowded roads, it is the sky, it is the sky, it is the Universe, all above and around. Pretty voices, pretty voices, fantastic voyage, all in a time of a glimpse of light.
Voices whispering to know not where
Voices whispering know that they're there
Voices in the still of the night
Voices when the room is still bright
A voice at the sun, two voices at the sun, three voices at the sun. Innumerable voices in choir at the sun. Heilà heilà heilà heilà. Beauty, a cluster of hands, din don. Anger, fly away. Anger, go away. Be a point of nothing away. Echo of the clearness, echo of help wins for multiple voices. Stay near the light of regrets. Heilà, heilà, heilà, heilà.
I wish the voices were different
The good from the bad
I wish they were separated
There are many voices
Not all good
Voices of evil
I was once taught it was crazy (at least that's what my Psychology professor said) for a person…any person…to hear voices in their head.
I understand the lesson my psychology professor was conveying…but I also know it all depends on what those voices might be saying.
There are sounds of sonorous voices
Like that of the cascading, Mosi Oa Tunya waters
Voices of the young; even of the yet born
Voices of the aged
Once a day I like to walk in silence…not only to concentrate on what I see…but to listen in to what the voices of the Earth are trying to say to me.
There are voices in the trees, in the clouds, in the mountains and the creeks…and if I listen closely in the silence…I can hear those voices speak.
There are many reasons I love my morning walks…many ways I find to be enthralled
but sometimes the best moments…are when I do not walk at all.
Today as I began my walk…in the street I quietly stood
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