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Famous Short Anger Poems. Short Anger Poetry by Famous Poets

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

See also: Best Famous Short Poems | Short Member Poems | Best Short Member Poems | Top 100 Famous Short Poems

 
by Edward Lear

There was an Old Person of Bangor

There was an Old Person of Bangor,
Whose face was distorted with anger;
He tore off his boots, and subsisted on roots,
That borascible Person of Bangor.


by The Bible

Distress

“If I should walk in the midst of distress, you will preserve me alive.
Because of the anger of my enemies you will thrust out your hand,
And your right hand will save me.”—Ps. 138:7.


by Emily Dickinson

Mine Enemy is growing old --

 Mine Enemy is growing old --
I have at last Revenge --
The Palate of the Hate departs --
If any would avenge

Let him be quick -- the Viand flits --
It is a faded Meat --
Anger as soon as fed is dead --
'Tis starving makes it fat --


by Ogden Nash

Always Marry An April Girl

 Praise the spells and bless the charms,
I found April in my arms.
April golden, April cloudy,
Gracious, cruel, tender, rowdy;
April soft in flowered languor,
April cold with sudden anger,
Ever changing, ever true --
I love April, I love you.


by Tupac Shakur

The Power of a Smile

The power of a gun can kill
and the power of fire can burn
the power of wind can chill
and the power of a mind can learn
the power of anger can rage
inside until it tears u apart
but the power of a smile
especially yours can heal a frozen heart 


by Robert Burns

174. The Bard at Inverary

 WHOE’ER he be that sojourns here,
 I pity much his case,
Unless he comes to wait upon
 The Lord their God, His Grace.


There’s naething here but Highland pride,
 And Highland scab and hunger:
If Providence has sent me here,
 ’Twas surely in his anger.


by Walter Savage Landor

The Evening Star

 Smiles soon abate; the boisterous throes 
Of anger long burst forth; 
Inconstantly the south-wind blows, 
But steadily the north. 

Thy star, O Venus! often changes 
Its radiant seat above, 
The chilling pole-star never ranges -- 
'Tis thus with Hate and Love.


by Louise Gluck

Confession

 To say I'm without fear--
It wouldn't be true.
I'm afraid of sickness, humiliation.
Like anyone, I have my dreams.
But I've learned to hide them,
To protect myself
From fulfillment: all happiness
Attracts the Fates' anger.
They are sisters, savages--
In the end they have
No emotion but envy.


by Robert Creeley

Goodbye

 She stood at the window. There was
a sound, a light.
She stood at the window. A face.

Was it that she was looking for,
he thought. Was it that
she was looking for. He said,

turn from it, turn
from it. The pain is
not unpainful. Turn from it.

The act of her anger, of
the anger she felt then,
not turning to him.


by Siegfried Sassoon

A Mystic As Soldier

 I lived my days apart, 
Dreaming fair songs for God; 
By the glory in my heart 
Covered and crowned and shod. 

Now God is in the strife,
And I must seek Him there, 
Where death outnumbers life, 
And fury smites the air. 

I walk the secret way 
With anger in my brain.
O music through my clay, 
When will you sound again?


by William Carlos (WCW) Williams

Blizzard

 Snow falls:
years of anger following
hours that float idly down—
the blizzard
drifts its weight
deeper and deeper for three days
or sixty years, eh? Then
the sun! a clutter of
yellow and blue flakes—
Hairy looking trees stand out
in long alleys
over a wild solitude.
The man turns and there—
his solitary track stretched out
upon the world.


by Ellis Parker Butler

The Rich Boy’s Christmas

 And now behold this sulking boy,
His costly presents bring no joy;
Harsh tears of anger fill his eye
Tho’ he has all that wealth can buy.
What profits it that he employs
His many gifts to make a noise?
His playroom is so placed that he
Can cause his folks no agony.

MORAL:

Mere worldly wealth does not possess
The power of giving happiness.


by Siegfried Sassoon

Autumn

 October's bellowing anger breaks and cleaves 
The bronzed battalions of the stricken wood 
In whose lament I hear a voice that grieves 
For battle’s fruitless harvest, and the feud 
Of outraged men. Their lives are like the leaves
Scattered in flocks of ruin, tossed and blown 
Along the westering furnace flaring red. 
O martyred youth and manhood overthrown, 
The burden of your wrongs is on my head.


by Frank O'Hara

Poem

The clouds ache bleakly
and when they can manage it 
crush someone's head in
without a sound of anger.
This is a brutal mystery.

We meet in the streets
with our hands in our pockets
and snarl guiltily at each other
as if we had flayed a cloud
or two in our salad days.

Lots of things do blame us;
and in moments when I forget
how cruel we really should be
I often have to bite my tongue
to keep from being guilty.


by David Herbert Lawrence

Discord in Childhood

 Outside the house an ash-tree hung its terrible whips,
And at night when the wind arose, the lash of the tree 
Shrieked and slashed the wind, as a ship’s 
Weird rigging in a storm shrieks hideously. 

Within the house two voices arose in anger, a slender lash
Whistling delirious rage, and the dreadful sound 
Of a thick lash booming and bruising, until it drowned 
The other voice in a silence of blood, ’neath the noise of the ash.


by Thomas Carew

Song. Murdering Beauty

 I'LL gaze no more on her bewitching face, 
Since ruin harbours there in every place ; 
For my enchanted soul alike she drowns 
With calms and tempests of her smiles and frowns. 
I’ll love no more those cruel eyes of hers, 
Which, pleased or anger’d, still are murderers : 
For if she dart, like lightning, through the air 
Her beams of wrath, she kills me with despair : 
If she behold me with a pleasing eye, 
I surfeit with excess of joy, and die.


by Philip Larkin

Skin

 Obedient daily dress,
You cannot always keep
That unfakable young surface.
You must learn your lines -
Anger, amusement, sleep;
Those few forbidding signs

Of the continuous coarse
Sand-laden wind, time;
You must thicken, work loose
Into an old bag
Carrying a soiled name.
Parch then; be roughened; sag;

And pardon me, that
I Could find, when you were new,
No brash festivity
To wear you at, such as
Clothes are entitled to
Till the fashion changes.


by Isaac Watts

Psalm 30 part 1

 Sickness healed, and sorrow removed.

I Will extol thee, Lord, on high,
At thy command diseases fly:
Who but a God can speak and save
From the dark borders of the grave?

Sing to the Lord, ye saints of his,
And tell how large his goodness is;
Let all your powers rejoice and bless
While you record his holiness.

His anger but a moment stays;
His love is life and length of days;
Though grief and tears the night employ,
The morning star restores the joy.


by Philip Levine

Fist

 Iron growing in the dark, 
it dreams all night long 
and will not work. A flower 
that hates God, a child 
tearing at itself, this one 
closes on nothing. 

Friday, late, 
Detroit Transmission. If I live 
forever, the first clouded light 
of dawn will flood me 
in the cold streams 
north of Pontiac. 

It opens and is no longer. 
Bud of anger, kinked 
tendril of my life, here 
in the forged morning 
fill with anything -- water, 
light, blood -- but fill.


by Siegfried Sassoon

Fancy Dress

 Some Brave, awake in you to-night, 
Knocked at your heart: an eagle’s flight 
Stirred in the feather on your head. 
Your wide-set Indian eyes, alight 
Above high cheek-bones smeared with red,
Unveiled cragg’d centuries, and led 
You, the snared wraith of bygone things— 
Wild ancestries of trackless Kings— 
Out of the past ... So men have felt 
Strange anger move them as they knelt 
Praying to gods serenely starred 
In heavens where tomahawks are barred.


by Stanley Kunitz

The Quarrel

 The word I spoke in anger 
weighs less than a parsley seed, 
but a road runs through it 
that leads to my grave,
that bought-and-paid-for lot 
on a salt-sprayed hill in Truro
where the scrub pines 
overlook the bay.
Half-way I'm dead enough,
strayed from my own nature 
and my fierce hold on life.
If I could cry, I'd cry, 
but I'm too old to be 
anybody's child.
Liebchen,
with whom should I quarrel 
except in the hiss of love, 
that harsh, irregular flame?


by Sara Teasdale

Oh You Are Coming

 Oh you are coming, coming, coming,
How will hungry Time put by the hours till then? --
But why does it anger my heart to long so
For one man out of the world of men?

Oh I would live in myself only
And build my life lightly and still as a dream --
Are not my thoughts clearer than your thoughts
And colored like stones in a running stream?

Now the slow moon brightens in heaven,
The stars are ready, the night is here --
Oh why must I lose myself to love you,
My dear?


by Robert Herrick

The Wounded Cupid

 Cupid as he lay among
Roses, by a Bee was stung.
Whereupon in anger flying
To his Mother, said thus crying;
Help! O help! your Boy's a dying.
And why, my pretty Lad, said she?
Then blubbering, replyed he,
A winged Snake has bitten me,
Which Country people call a Bee.
At which she smil'd; then with her hairs
And kisses drying up his tears:
Alas! said she, my Wag! if this
Such a pernicious torment is:
Come, tel me then, how great's the smart
Of those, thou woundest with thy Dart!


by Robert Herrick

TO THE ROSE: SONG

 Go, happy Rose, and interwove
With other flowers, bind my Love.
Tell her, too, she must not be
Longer flowing, longer free,
That so oft has fetter'd me.

Say, if she's fretful, I have bands
Of pearl and gold, to bind her hands;
Tell her, if she struggle still,
I have myrtle rods at will,
For to tame, though not to kill.

Take thou my blessing thus, and go
And tell her this,--but do not so!--
Lest a handsome anger fly
Like a lightning from her eye,
And burn thee up, as well as I!