POETRY POEMS

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Am I English?

Am i English?
Iam doing my poetry in English
not that i can do English
better than the English
.....
Francis Ngwenya

Francis Ngwenya
Poetry

Poetry is a painting of words,
The colours are our tears and thoughts,
That flow from the mind to the pen in hand and onto the paper.
The different figure of speech and tone used in poetry enhances its texture.
.....
Salma Hatim

Salma Hatim
Iam A Poet

Iam a poet
i have been writing for a while
for both the black and white,
of late none of my literature
.....
Francis Ngwenya

Francis Ngwenya
I Don't Want You To Read My Poems And Remain The Same

I don't want you to read my poems and remain the same,
i want you to read my poems and get rabbies,
attacking every jack and jill smoking cannabis
i want you to read my poems and wonder if Charles Darwin's theory of evolution was true,
.....
Francis Ngwenya

Francis Ngwenya
The Book

Reading from my book
poetry is my boss
is how I die every night
I disappear from sight
.....
Bheki Nxumalo

Bheki Nxumalo
A Hand Axe

I know not a hand axe,
Cathartic is my poetry and rhyme.
I pen in the darkness,
when my sun sets in the east.
.....
Brian Bunguswa

Brian Bunguswa
Artwork

Did you ever looked at the artwork
And wished it was a reality ?
Did you ever wanted to immerse in it ,and become onesss with a painting ?
Did you ever heard the rytmic sound of poems in the poetry book playing only for you ?
.....
Martina Rimbaldo

Martina Rimbaldo
Love - The Symbolic Soul

Love is a journey, only few dispatch it,
Not all can, the dream in life who loves,
Although millions of promises created.
It's fragile like a narrow glass, easily smart,
.....
Santosh Kumar

Santosh Kumar
Zombie (reverse Poetry)

"A zombie is what I am.
I would be wrong to say
I can love again,

.....
Noah Angelo Lb

Noah Angelo Lb
Meaning Of Poem

The feelings of my heart,
The way of expressing,
Are poetry
In the area of ​​snuffery,
.....
Murari Lal

Murari Lal
Mayakovsky

1
My heart's aflutter!
I am standing in the bath tub
crying. Mother, mother
.....

Frank O'hara
In Memory Of W.b. Yeats

I

He disappeared in the dead of winter:
The brooks were frozen, the airports almost deserted,
.....
W. H. Auden

W. H. Auden
Pantoum Of The Great Depression

Our lives avoided tragedy
Simply by going on and on,
Without end and with little apparent meaning.
Oh, there were storms and small catastrophes.
.....

Donald Justice
The Conclusion

Sleep not too much; nor longer than asleep
Within thy bed thy lazy body keep;
For when thou, warm awake, shall feel it soft,
Fond cogitations will assail thee oft:
.....
Francis Beaumont

Francis Beaumont
Ode To Clothes

Every morning you wait,
clothes, over a chair,
to fill yourself with
my vanity, my love,
.....
Pablo Neruda

Pablo Neruda
Locksley Hall Sixty Years After

Late, my grandson! half the morning have I paced these sandy tracts,
Watch'd again the hollow ridges roaring into cataracts,

Wander'd back to living boyhood while I heard the curlews call,
.....
Alfred Lord Tennyson

Alfred Lord Tennyson
The Passionate Pilgrim

I.
When my love swears that she is made of truth,
I do believe her, though I know she lies,
That she might think me some untutor'd youth,
.....
William Shakespeare

William Shakespeare
A Crazed Girl

That crazed girl improvising her music.
Her poetry, dancing upon the shore,
Her soul in division from itself
Climbing, falling She knew not where,
.....
William Butler Yeats

William Butler Yeats
The Man With The Blue Guitar

as green.

They said, 'You have a blue guitar,
You do not play things as they are.'
.....

Wallace Stevens
A True Account Of Talking To The Sun On Fire Island

y! I've been
trying to wake you up for fifteen
minutes. Don't be so rude, you are
only the second poet I've ever chosen
.....

Frank O'hara
To The Muses

Whether on Ida's shady brow
Or in the chambers of the East,
The chambers of the Sun, that now
From ancient melody have ceased;
.....
William Blake

William Blake
On The Grasshopper And Cricket

The poetry of earth is never dead:
When all the birds are faint with the hot sun,
And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run
From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead;
.....
John Keats

John Keats
Birds Of A Feather

Of bosom friends I've had but seven,
Despite my years are ripe;
I hope they're now enjoying Heaven,
Although they're not the type;
.....
Robert Service

Robert Service
.i Am A Woman, A Voice, A Flower

I am a woman,
And i have a sensitive soul,
My heart do enjoy the poetry,
My heart is my consciousness,
.....
Cristina Teodor

Cristina Teodor
Angels

Elliot Ray Neiderland, home from college
one winter, hauling a load of Herefords
from Hogtown to Guymon with a pint of
Ezra Brooks and a copy of Rilkeâ??s Duineser
.....

B H Fairchild
Poetry

Poetry to us is given
As stars beautify the heaven,
Or, as the sunbeams when they gleam,
Sparkling so bright upon the stream ;
.....

James Mcintyre
To Pile Like Thunder To Its Close

1247

To pile like Thunder to its close
Then crumble grand away
.....
Emily Dickinson

Emily Dickinson
Philology Recapitulates Ontology, Poetry Is Ontology

Faithful to your commandments, o consciousness, o

Holy bird of words soaring ever whether to nothingness or
to inconceivable fulfillment slowly:
.....
Delmore Schwartz

Delmore Schwartz
Whoever Brought Me Here

All day I think about it, then at night I say it.
Where did I come from, and what am I supposed to be doing?
I have no idea.
My soul is from elsewhere, I'm sure of that,
.....

Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi
The Poet

The riches of the poet are equal to his poetry
His power is his left hand
It is idle weak and precious
His poverty is his wealth, a wealth which may destroy him
.....
Delmore Schwartz

Delmore Schwartz
March

There's a wind blowing
Cold through the corridors,
A ghost-wind,
The flapping of defeated wings,
.....

Patrick Kavanagh
Epitaph On A Tyrant

Perfection, of a kind, was what he was after,
And the poetry he invented was easy to understand;
He knew human folly like the back of his hand,
And was greatly interested in armies and fleets;
.....
W. H. Auden

W. H. Auden
Preface

A book which needs to be written is one dealing
with the childhood of authors. It would be
not only interesting, but instructive; not merely
profitable in a general way, but practical in a
.....
Hilda Conkling

Hilda Conkling
A Conceit

Give me your hand

Make room for me
to lead and follow
.....
Maya Angelou

Maya Angelou
Dedication

You whom I could not save
Listen to me.
Try to understand this simple speech as I would be ashamed of another.
I swear, there is in me no wizardry of words.
.....

Czeslaw Milosz
A Canvas For A Crust

Aye, Montecelli, that's the name.
You may have heard of him perhaps.
Yet though he never savoured fame,
Of those impressionistic chaps,
.....
Robert Service

Robert Service
Closings

1

"Always Be Closing," Liam told usâ??
abc of real estate, used cars,
.....

Donald Hall
Canto Iii

Another's a half-cracked fellowâ??John Heydon,
Worker of miracles, dealer in levitation,
In thoughts upon pure form, in alchemy,
Seer of pretty visions ('servant of God and secretary of nature');
.....
Ezra Pound

Ezra Pound
The Deserted Village

Sweet Auburn! loveliest village of the plain,
Where health and plenty cheered the labouring swain,
Where smiling spring its earliest visits paid,
And parting summer's lingering blooms delayed:
.....
Oliver Goldsmith

Oliver Goldsmith
Hugh Selwyn Mauberly (part I)

"Vocat aestus in umbram"
Nemesianus Es. IV.

E. P. Ode pour l'élection de son sépulchre
.....
Ezra Pound

Ezra Pound
To An Ungentle Critic

The great sun sinks behind the town
Through a red mist of Volnay wine….
But what's the use of setting down
That glorious blaze behind the town?
.....
Robert Graves

Robert Graves
Definition Of Poetry

It's a whistle blown ripe in a trice,
It's the cracking of ice in a gale,
It's a night that turns green leaves to ice,
It's a duel of two nightingales.
.....
Boris Pasternak

Boris Pasternak
Satire Ii

Sir; though (I thanke God for it) I do hate
Perfectly all this towne, yet there's one state
In all ill things so excellently best,
That hate, towards them, breeds pitty towards the rest.
.....
John Donne

John Donne
Train Journey

Glassed with cold sleep and dazzled by the moon,
out of the confused hammering dark of the train
I looked and saw under the moon's cold sheet
your delicate dry breasts, country that built my heart;
.....

Judith Wright
African Poem

African Poem.

Write the poem with a purple crayon
Remembering that one lives longer with so little frowns.
.....
Kasim Shalom

Kasim Shalom
To Poetry

Donâ??t desert me
just because I stayed up last night
watching The Lost Weekend.

.....

Edward Hirsch
Reason Says Love Says

Reason says, â?? I will beguile him with the tongue.â?; Love says,
â??Be silent. I will beguile him with the soul.â?
The soul says to the heart, â??Go, do not laugh at me and yourself.
What is there that is not his, that I may beguile him
.....

Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi
Dear Lorca

Dear Lorca,

These letters are to be as temporary as our poetry is to be permanent. They will establish the bulk, the wastage that my sour-stomached contemporaries demand to help them swallow and digest the pure word. We will use up our rhetoric here so that it will not appear in our poems. Let it be consumed paragraph by paragraph, day by day, until nothing of it is left in our poetry and nothing of our poetry is left in it. It is precisely because these letters are unnecessary that they must be written.
In my last letter I spoke of the tradition. The fools that read these letters will think by this we mean what tradition seems to have meant latelyâ??an historical patchwork (whether made up of Elizabethan quotations, guide books of the poetâ??s home town, or obscure bits of magic published by Pantheon) which is used to cover up the nakedness of the bare word. Tradition means much more than that. It means generations of different poets in different countries patiently telling the same story, writing the same poem, gaining and losing something with each transformationâ??but, of course, never really losing anything. This has nothing to do with calmness, classicism, temperament, or anything else. Invention is merely the enemy of poetry.
.....

Jack Spicer
Balqees

Balqees. . . oh princess,
You burn, caught between tribal wars,
What will I write about the departure of my queen?
Indeed, words are my scandal. . . .
.....

Nizar Qabbani
Christmas Eve

I

Out of the little chapel I burst
Into the fresh night-air again.
.....
Robert Browning

Robert Browning