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Famous Short Family Poems

Famous Short Family Poems. Short Family Poetry by Famous Poets. A collection of the all-time best Family short poems


by Jack Prelutsky
 I am Super Samson Simpson,
I'm superlatively strong,
I like to carry elephants,
I do it all day long,
I pick up half a dozen
and hoist them in the air,
it's really somewhat simple,
for I have strength to spare.
My muscles are enormous, they bulge from top to toe, and when I carry elephants, they ripple to and fro, but I am not the strongest in the Simpson family, for when I carry elephants, my grandma carries me.



by Emily Dickinson
 If Nature smiles -- the Mother must
I'm sure, at many a whim
Of Her eccentric Family --
Is She so much to blame?

by Allen Ginsberg
 Now mind is clear
as a cloudless sky.
Time then to make a home in wilderness.
What have I done but wander with my eyes in the trees? So I will build: wife, family, and seek for neighbors.
Or I perish of lonesomeness or want of food or lightning or the bear (must tame the hart and wear the bear).
And maybe make an image of my wandering, a little image—shrine by the roadside to signify to traveler that I live here in the wilderness awake and at home.

by Linda Pastan
 The gathering family
throws shadows around us,
it is the late afternoon
Of the family.
There is still enough light to see all the way back, but at the windows that light is wasting away.
Soon we will be nothing but silhouettes: the sons' as harsh as the fathers'.
Soon the daughters will take off their aprons as trees take off their leaves for winter.
Let us eat quickly-- let us fill ourselves up.
the covers of the album are closing behind us.

by Ogden Nash
 One would be in less danger
From the wiles of a stranger
If one's own kin and kith
Were more fun to be with.



by William Stafford
 My family slept those level miles
but like a bell rung deep till dawn
I drove down an aisle of sound,
nothing real but in the bell,
past the town where I was born.
Once you cross a land like that you own your face more: what the light struck told a self; every rock denied all the rest of the world.
We stopped at Sharon Springs and ate-- My state still dark, my dream too long to tell.

by Robert Frost
 The rose is a rose,
And was always a rose.
But the theory now goes That the apple's a rose, And the pear is, and so's The plum, I suppose.
The dear only know What will next prove a rose.
You, of course, are a rose-- But were always a rose.

by Les Murray
 The paddocks shave black
with a foam of smoke that stays,
welling out of red-black wounds.
In the white of a drought this happens.
The hardcourt game.
Logs that fume are mostly cattle, inverted, stubby.
Tree stumps are kilns.
Walloped, wiped, hand-pumped, even this day rolls over, slowly.
At dusk, a family drives sheep out through the yellow of the Aboriginal flag.

by Thomas Hardy
 I am the family face; 
Flesh perishes, I live on, 
Projecting trait and trace 
Through time to times anon, 
And leaping from place to place 
Over oblivion.
The years-heired feature that can In curve and voice and eye Despise the human span Of durance -- that is I; The eternal thing in man, That heeds no call to die

by Edgar Lee Masters
 My name used to be in the papers daily
As having dined somewhere,
Or traveled somewhere,
Or rented a house in Paris,
Where I entertained the nobility.
I was forever eating or traveling, Or taking the cure at Baden-Baden.
Now I am here to do honor To Spoon River, here beside the family whence I sprang.
No one cares now where I dined, Or lived, or whom I entertained, Or how often I took the cure at Baden-Baden!

Wants  Create an image from this poem
by Philip Larkin
 Beyond all this, the wish to be alone:
However the sky grows dark with invitation-cards
However we follow the printed directions of sex
However the family is photographed under the flag-staff -
Beyond all this, the wish to be alone.
Beneath it all, the desire for oblivion runs: Despite the artful tensions of the calendar, The life insurance, the tabled fertility rites, The costly aversion of the eyes away from death - Beneath it all, the desire for oblivion runs.

by Louisa May Alcott
 O lesson well and wisely taught 
Stay with me to the last, 
That all my life may better be 
For the trial that is past.
O vanity, mislead no more! Sleep, like passions, long! Wake, happy heart, and dance again To the music of my song! O summer days, flit fast away, And bring the blithesome hour When we three wanderers shall meet Safe in our household flower! O dear mamma, lament no more! Smile on us as we come, Your grief has been our punishment, Your love has led us home.

by Ogden Nash
 The wasp and all his numerous family 
I look upon as a major calamity.
He throws open his nest with prodigality, But I distrust his waspitality.

by Douglas Stewart

by Regina Derieva
 It was not necessary to study
the language
of a strange country;
anyway, it would be of no help.
It was not necessary to know where Italy or England is located; travel was obviously out of question.
It was not necessary to live among the wild beasts of Noah's ark, which had just devoured the last dove of peace, along with Noah and his virtuous family.
It was not necessary to strive for some holy land awash in milk and honey, according to rumor.

by Vachel Lindsay
 The Lion is a kingly beast.
He likes a Hindu for a feast.
And if no Hindu he can get, The lion-family is upset.
He cuffs his wife and bites her ears Till she is nearly moved to tears.
Then some explorer finds the den And all is family peace again.

by Russell Edson
 Here I am with my mother, hanging under the molt 
of years, in a garden of umbrellas and rubber boots, 
together always in the vague perfume of her coat.
See how the fedoras along the shelf are the several skulls of my father, in this catacomb of my family.

by Emily Dickinson
 Now I knew I lost her --
Not that she was gone --
But Remoteness travelled
On her Face and Tongue.
Alien, though adjoining As a Foreign Race -- Traversed she though pausing Latitudeless Place.
Elements Unaltered -- Universe the same But Love's transmigration -- Somehow this had come -- Henceforth to remember Nature took the Day I had paid so much for -- His is Penury Not who toils for Freedom Or for Family But the Restitution Of Idolatry.


Book: Reflection on the Important Things