Submit Poems
Get Your Premium Membership

Best Famous Thom Gunn Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Thom Gunn poems. This is a select list of the best famous Thom Gunn poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Thom Gunn poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of Thom Gunn poems.

Search for the best famous Thom Gunn poems, articles about Thom Gunn poems, poetry blogs, or anything else Thom Gunn poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.

See Also:
Written by Thom Gunn | Create an image from this poem

On The Move Man You Gotta Go

 The blue jay scuffling in the bushes follows 
Some hidden purpose, and the gush of birds 
That spurts across the field, the wheeling swallows, 
Have nested in the trees and undergrowth.
Seeking their instinct, or their pose, or both, One moves with an uncertain violence Under the dust thrown by a baffled sense Or the dull thunder of approximate words.
On motorcycles, up the road, they come: Small, black, as flies hanging in heat, the Boy, Until the distance throws them forth, their hum Bulges to thunder held by calf and thigh.
In goggles, donned impersonality, In gleaming jackets trophied with the dust, They strap in doubt--by hiding it, robust-- And almost hear a meaning in their noise.
Exact conclusion of their hardiness Has no shape yet, but from known whereabouts They ride, directions where the tires press.
They scare a flight of birds across the field: Much that is natural, to the will must yield.
Men manufacture both machine and soul, And use what they imperfectly control To dare a future from the taken routes.
It is part solution, after all.
One is not necessarily discord On Earth; or damned because, half animal, One lacks direct instinct, because one wakes Afloat on movement that divides and breaks.
One joins the movement in a valueless world, Crossing it, till, both hurler and the hurled, One moves as well, always toward, toward.
A minute holds them, who have come to go: The self-denied, astride the created will.
They burst away; the towns they travel through Are home for neither birds nor holiness, For birds and saints complete their purposes.
At worse, one is in motion; and at best, Reaching no absolute, in which to rest, One is always nearer by not keeping still.
Written by Thom Gunn | Create an image from this poem

My Sad Captains

 One by one they appear in
the darkness: a few friends, and
a few with historical 
names.
How late they start to shine! but before they fade they stand perfectly embodied, all the past lapping them like a cloak of chaos.
They were men who, I thought, lived only to renew the wasteful force they spent with each hot convulsion.
They remind me, distant now.
True, they are not at rest yet, but now they are indeed apart, winnowed from failures, they withdraw to an orbit and turn with disinterested hard energy, like the stars.
Written by Thom Gunn | Create an image from this poem

Considering The Snail

 The snail pushes through a green
night, for the grass is heavy
with water and meets over
the bright path he makes, where rain
has darkened the earth's dark.
He moves in a wood of desire, pale antlers barely stirring as he hunts.
I cannot tell what power is at work, drenched there with purpose, knowing nothing.
What is a snail's fury? All I think is that if later I parted the blades above the tunnel and saw the thin trail of broken white across litter, I would never have imagined the slow passion to that deliberate progress.