This page is specially prepared for cheap poems. You can reach newest and popular cheap poems from this page. You can vote and comment on the cheap poems you read.
Christmas In India
Dim dawn behind the tamerisks-the sky is saffron-yellow-
As the women in the village grind the corn,
And the parrots seek the riverside, each calling to his fellow
That the Day, the staring Easter Day is born.
Please don't hurt this much
I feel you
I'm young I can't bare now
Dim, as the borrow'd beams of moon and stars
To lonely, weary, wand'ring travellers,
Is reason to the soul; and as on high,
Those rolling fires discover but the sky
In The Droving Days
"Only a pound," said the auctioneer,
"Only a pound; and I'm standing here
Selling this animal, gain or loss --
Only a pound for the drover's horse?
You see that sheaf of slender books
Upon the topmost shelf,
At which no browser ever looks,
Because they're by . . . myself;
What shall we do with Margery?
She lies and cries upon her bed,
All lily-pale from foot to head,
Her heart is sore as sore can be;
April doesnt hurt here
Like it does in New England
Vast and brown
When I asked my mother why they were called sand tarts,
she couldn't answer me-
perhaps this ravenous curiosity causes my brother
So We Were Poor...!
Yes we were poor, what da hell?
My parents could not read or write
It was a struggle to finish Matric with candle light.
When others kids could have their rapports signed
Ah, yes; why not? Is one more adventitious born
Than others-shekels richer, honors fuller, and all that-
That he can pass his fellows by with lofty scorn,
Nor even show this slight regard-the lifting of the hat?
Does the wind sing in your ears at night, in the town,
Rattling the windows and doors of the cheap-built place?
Do you hear its song as it flies over marsh and down?
Do you feel the kiss that the wind leaves here on my face?
Her smile ineffably is sweet,
Devinely she is slim;
Yet oh how weary are her feet,
How aches her every limb!
Leader no more, be judged of us!
Hailed Chief, and loved, of yore-
Youth, and the faith of youth, cry out:
Leader and Chief no more!
Sometimes I'd spend the whole night coughing up
what I'd been breathing in all day at work.
I'd sleep in a chair or take a good stiff drink,
anything to get a few hours rest.
I met my butt in a Pittsburgh
hotel room. My face
still looks like my face
but not my butt, my hair
As the Chameleon, who is known
To have no colours of his own,
But borrows from his neighbour's hue
His white or black, his green or blue,
Some carol of the banjo, to its measure keeping time;
Of viol or of lute some make a song.
My battered old accordion, you're worthy of a rhyme,
You've been my friend and comforter so long.
The Tyrant passed, and friendlier was his eye
On the great man of Athens, whom for foe
Uncle John, he makes me tired;
Thinks ‘at he's jest so all-fired
Smart, ‘at he kin pick up, so,
Ever'thing he wants to know.
Paul Laurence Dunbar
Quart Pot Creek
On an evening ramble lately, as I wandered on sedately,
Linking curious fancies, modern, mediaeval, and antiqueâ??
Suddenly the sun descended, and a radiance ruby-splendid,
With the gleam of water blended, thrilled my sensitive physiqueâ??
James Brunton Stephens
I went into a public-'ouse to get a pint o' beer,
The publican 'e up an' sez, "We serve no red-coats here."
The girls be'ind the bar they laughed an' giggled fit to die,
I outs into the street again an' to myself sez I:
I HAVE kept all, not one is thrown away, not one given to the ragman, not one thrust in a corner with a 'P-f-f.'
The red ones and the blue, the long ones in stripes, and each of the little black and white checkered ones.
Keep them: I tell my heart: keep them another year, another ten years: they will be wanted again.
They came once, they came easy, they came like a first white flurry of snow in late October,
A riot is the language of the unheard.
â??martin luther king
John Cabot, out of Wilma, once a Wycliffe,
Betsey And I Are Out.
Draw up the papers, lawyer, and make 'em good and stout;
For things at home are crossways, and Betsey and I are out.
We, who have worked together so long as man and wife,
Must pull in single harness for the rest of our nat'ral life.
Soulless is all humanity to me
To-night. My keenest longing is to be
Alone, alone with God's grey earth that seems
Pulse of my pulse and consort of my dreams.
Emily Pauline Johnson
In Italy, where this sort of thing can occur,
I had a vision once - though you understand
It was nothing at all like Dante's, or the visions of saints,
And perhaps not a vision at all. I was with some friends,
Anthony Evan Hecht
The Ancient Town Of Leith
Ancient town of Leith, most wonderful to be seen,
With your many handsome buildings, and lovely links so green,
And the first buildings I may mention are the Courthouse and Town Hall,
Also Trinity House, and the Sailors' Home of Call.
William Topaz Mcgonagall
The Iliad: Book 21
Now when they came to the ford of the full-flowing river Xanthus,
begotten of immortal Jove, Achilles cut their forces in two: one
half he chased over the plain towards the city by the same way that
the Achaeans had taken when flying panic-stricken on the preceding day
The Wallaby Brigade
You often have been told of regiments brave and bold,
But we are the bravest in the land;
We're called the Tag-rag Band, and we rally in Queensland,
We are members of the Wallaby Brigade.
Can we stifle the old, long-lived Remorse,
that lives, writhes, heaves,
feeds on us, like a worm on a corpse,
like oak-gall on the oak-trees?
A long farewell to Genoa
That rises to the skies,
Where the barren coast of Italy
Like our own coastline lies.
To A Dancing Doll
Formal, quaint, precise, and trim,
You begin your steps demurely-
There's a spirit almost prim
In the feet that move so surely,
Never Bite A Married Woman On The Thigh
Never bite a married woman on the thigh oh my
Cause she just can't rub it off no matter how she'll try
And when she gets home at night her man will ask her why
Then she'll say it's just a birthmark or some other silly lie