A Poems few words can sum up the wisdom and knowledge of a thousand, according to some people. A short poem can also do that.
poems a simple poem is not difficult. It is not possible to write long explanations. The words should be short and concise.
poems take careful thought and word selection to create a short poem. If you want to get your point across poems clearly and concisely, a short poem can be a good stylistic choice.
These 25 short poems are some of the most beloved and get straight to the point quickly.
Ogden Nash: A Word to Husbands
Keep your marriage happy
Love in the cup of your heart
Recognize when you are wrong.
Shut up when you are right
Eldred Herbert, “Humble and Grumble”
Humble and Grumble were identical twins.
Humble was always so humble;
Grumble was a grumbler all day.
He may even be called a freak by some.
Humble was happy, and everyone was his friend.
Grumble was, of course, jealous
Humble was glad to follow the Lord.
Grumble is an immoral source.
Humble was never seen with a frown.
Grumble is a grumbler who has never smiled.
By being humble, Humble gained friends.
Grumble! He won them with guile.
Grumble and please follow Humble, your twin.
Humble, don’t grumble, I pray
Grumble is your twin.
Do not grumble. Be humble today.
“Messy Room” by Shel Silverstein
This should make anyone ashamed.
His underwear hangs on the lamp.
The overstuffed chair holds his raincoat.
The chair is getting very mucky and damp.
His workbook is tucked in the window.
His sweater has been laid on the ground.
Below the TV is his scarf and one ski.
His pants were also carelessly hung at the door.
All of his books are in the closet.
His vest was left in the hall.
Ed, a lizard, is sleeping in his bed.
His soiled old socks were stuck to the wall.
This should make anyone ashamed.
Donald, Robert or Willie?
Huh? It’s yours, you say? Oh, dear,
It looked familiar to me!
Ogden Nash, “I Didn’t Go to Church Today”
Today, I didn’t go on to church.
I trust that the Lord will understand.
The surf was swirling in blue and white.
The children are playing in the sand.
He knows my brief stay.
This spell of summer weather was so brief!
He is able to tell when I’m done and said.
We will have lots of time together
A. Milne, “Now We Are Six”, A. Milne
When I was one,
I had just begun.
When I was two,
I was almost new.
When I was Three
I was not me.
When I was four,
It was all I could do.
When I was five,
I was only alive.
Now I am Six
I am as smart as they come.
I believe I will be six for all eternity.
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Robert Frost’s “The Rose Family”
A rose is a rose.
It was always a rose.
The theory is now confirmed
The apple is a rose.
The pear is also delicious.
I think the plum.
The dear knows only what the dear know
Next, a rose will bloom.
You are, naturally, a rose.
They were always a rose.
Maya Angelou’s “When You Come”
Unbidden, when you come to me
Be my Beckoning Me
To long-ago rooms,
There are many places where memories reside.
As a child, offer me an attic.
There are too few gatherings.
Baubles full of stolen kisses
Trinkets for borrowed love
There are many secret words in this book.
I CRY.
William Shakespeare’s “Sonnet 29”
In disgrace with fortune, men’s eyes and fortune
I alone can beg for my outcast state.
With my bootless cries, trouble deaf heaven
Take a look at me and curse my fate.
I wish you a more prosperous life.
Like him with his friends
This man’s art and this man’s scope are what I long for
What I am most content with least.
But in these thoughts, I almost find myself despising.
Haply, I think of thee, then my state.
(Like the lark at dawn arising
(From sullen Earth) sings hymns at heaven’s gate
Sweet love, remember such wealth!
That is why I shun to change my state with the kings.
Emily Dickinson, “It’s all I have to bring today”
That’s all I have today.
This, and my heart beside it–
This, my heart, and all of the fields.
All the meadows are wide–
Count every word.
One could tell the whole story by adding up.
This, my heart, and all of the Bees
Which are found in the Clover.
Walt Whitman’s “A Glimpse”
An interstice glimpse captured
A crowd of drivers and workmen gathered in a bar room to watch the stove at night. I was unremarkably seated in a corner.
A youth who loves me and whom he loves, silently approaching me and sitting near me, so he can hold me by my hand.
It was a long time in the midst of all the noises of going and coming, of drinking, oath, and smutty jest.
We are content together, happy to be together, and we speak little, if any, of each other.
Langston Hughes’ “A Love Song For Lucinda”
Love
Is it a plum?
Growing up under a purple tree.
It’s delicious!
Its spell is enchanting
You will never be forgotten.
Love
Bright star
The far Southern sky is glistening.
Look too hard
Its burning flame
Your eyes will always be hurt.
Love
What is a high mountain?
Stark under a windy sky.
If you are interested in
Never lose your breath
Don’t climb too high.
Carl Sandberg’s “I Love You”
I love you for who you are, but I also love you for what your future holds.
I love you for your dreams and realities, but not for your reality. I pray that your dreams may come true, and not for your mediocre satisfactions.
One whose petals are about falling is a happy flower. A bud that is bursting with the desire to grow larger and more beautiful flowers is the most beautiful. poems will not always be the same as you are now. You are moving forward towards something wonderful. You are on the right track and I love you.
“Sonnet XLIII” by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
How can I love you? Let me count the ways.
I love you to the fullest.
When I feel out of sight, my soul can reach.
For the ends and ideal grace.
You are my greatest love.
The sun and candle-light are the best options for quiet.
As men strive for justice, I love you freely.
You are my only love, and I am yours without exception.
With passion, I love you.
In my old sorrows and in my childhood faith.
You are my love, and I feel like I’m losing it.
With my saints lost. I love you with my breath.
Smiles, tears, and all of my life. And, if God wills,
I will only love you more after death.
Rumi: “Defeated By Love”
The sky was lit
By the beauty of the moon
So powerful
I fell to the floor
Your love
It has made me certain
I’m ready to give up.
This is the worldly life
And surrender
To the magnificence
Your Being
E.E. Cummings
Love is a place
This place is for you.
Love is a move
(with the brightness of peace)
All places
Yes, there is a world.
In this world of
yes live
(skilfully curled)
All worlds
Pablo Neruda, “Your Feet,”
If I can’t look at your face
I look at you feet.
Your feet made of arched bone
your hard little feet.
They are there to support you.
That’s your sweet weight
They are risen upon.
Your breasts and your waist.
The doubled purple
Your nipples
The sockets of your eyes
They have all flown away.
your wide fruit mouth,
Your red tresses
My little tower.
I still love your feet
They walked because they were able to.
Upon the earth and upon
The wind and the water
Until they found me.
W.B Yeats, “Never Give All The Heart”
For love, don’t give up on your heart.
It will hardly be worth considering.
Passionate women, if it seems
They are certain, but they don’t dream of it.
It fades from kiss to kiss.
All that is beautiful
poems was a short, sweet, and kind of magical delight.
Never give up on your heart.
They, for all their smooth lips can say,
They have given their hearts to the play.
Who could do it better?
If you are deaf, dumb, and blind in love
He who made it knows the price.
He gave his whole heart and was able to lose nothing.
Margaret Atwood’s “You Fit into Me”
You fit in me
Like a hook to an eye
a fish hook
an open eye
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Robert Frost’s “Fire and Ice”
Some believe the world will end with fire.
Some people say that ice is better than water.
What I’ve had to taste of my desire
I stand with those who support fire.
poems However, if it had been to die twice,
I believe I am well-versed in hate
That’s destruction ice, to be exact
It is also fantastic
That would be enough.
Anais Nin’s “Risk”
The day finally came.
When the risk is
To remain tight
in a bud
It was even more painful
More than the risk
It took
To blossom.
Maya Angelou,poems “Awakening in New York”
Curtains that force their will
Against the wind
children sleep,
poems Exchanging dreams with
seraphim. The city
It drags itself awake
Subway straps
I, an alarm, wake up as a
Rumors of war
lie stretching into dawn
Unasked and ignored
Natasha Tretheway, “Housekeeping”,
We grieve the broken, chair legs
They were flung from their chairs and chipped plates.
The clothes that are worn out. We do the magic
Use glue to drive the nails and mend the holes.
We melt small pieces to save what we can
Make soap by gathering pecans and keeping your neck bones.
For soup. Beat rugs against your house
We watch dust spread like stars.
The yard is open to all. We draw in the afternoon.
The blinds are used to cool the rooms.
out. My mother irons, singing, lost and reverie.
I make sure to mark the pages in a mail-order catalogue.
Pay attention to cars passing by. We watch all day.
For the mail, some news from distant places
Jacqueline Woodson’s “Church”
Everybody has a chance to hear the sermon on Sundays.
to confess their sins. Miss Edna makes you go
to church. She wears a bright hat
I wear my suit. Babies wear lace.
My age group of girls, some pretty, and some not so
pretty. Old men and women nod.
Miss Edna throws her hand every once in a while
In the air. Say Yes Lord, Preach!
I keep a pen in my back pocket.
Bend down as if I had dropped something.
The preacher is accompanied by a chorus.
Get ready to sing by clapping, humming, and clapping.
I have the word HOPE written on my hand.
Karina Borowicz, “September Tomatoes”,
The whiskey smell of rot has settled
In the garden, a burst in fruit flies raises
When I touch the tomato plants that are dying.
Yet, tiny yellow blossoms still have their claws.
As I lift the vines by their roots, I flail in the air.
Toss them in the compost
It’s cruel. It feels cruel.
To let summer go so easily. To destroy
What I have carefully nurtured over the past months.
These pale flowers may still be able to bear fruit.
My great-grandmother sang for the village girls
They pulled the flax. Songs so old
So tied to the season, that the very sound
It seemed to change the weather.
Maggie Smith, “Good Bones”,
Although life is short, I try to keep that from my children.
Life is short. I have cut mine.
You can find a million delicious and ill-advised ways to do it.
There are a thousand ways to be deliciously stupid.
I will keep my children from this. The world is at most
50 percent of the population is considered to be terrible.
Estimate, but I keep it from my children.
Every bird is worth a stone.
A broken and bagged child is a child that has been loved.
You are sunk into a lake. The world is too short.
It is at least half as terrible for all kinds
Stranger, there’s one who could break you.
However, I try to keep it from my children. I’m trying.
To sell them the world. Any decent realtor,
Walking you through a real shithole of chirps.
About good bones: This area could be beautiful.
right? This place could be beautiful.
Wendell Berry’s “The Peace Of Wild Things”,
If I feel despair for the world, it is me
I wake up in the morning with the least amount of sound
In fear for my life and the lives of my children,
I lay down on the spot where the wood drapes.
He lies in his beauty on water and the great heron eats.
I enter the peace and tranquility of wild animals
Who do not overtax their lives with forethought?
The grief. I am at peace with still water.
And I feel the day-blind stars above me
Waiting with their light. It will take some time.
I am free because I trust in the grace of God.
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