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Famous Short Husband Poems. Short Husband Poetry by Famous Poets

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

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

 
by Spike Milligan

So Fair is She

 So fair is she!
So fair her face
So fair her pulsing figure

Not so fair
The maniacal stare
Of a husband who's much bigger.


by Robert Louis Stevenson

So Live So Love So Use That Fragile Hour

 SO live, so love, so use that fragile hour,
That when the dark hand of the shining power
Shall one from other, wife or husband, take,
The poor survivor may not weep and wake.


by Mother Goose

I Had A Little Husband


I had a little husband no bigger than my thumb,
I put him in a pint pot, and there I bid him drum,
I bought a little handkerchief to wipe his little nose,
And a pair of little garters to tie his little hose.


by Li Po

Under the Moon

 Under the crescent moon's faint glow
The washerman's bat resounds afar,
And the autumn breeze sighs tenderly.
But my heart has gone to the Tartar war, To bleak Kansuh and the steppes of snow, Calling my husband back to me.


by Mother Goose

The Old Woman Of Surrey

 

There was an old woman in Surrey,
Who was morn, noon, and night in a hurry;
    Called her husband a fool,
    Drove the children to school,
The worrying old woman of Surrey.


by Walt Whitman

To You.

 LET us twain walk aside from the rest; 
Now we are together privately, do you discard ceremony, 
Come! vouchsafe to me what has yet been vouchsafed to none—Tell me the whole story, 
Tell me what you would not tell your brother, wife, husband, or physician.


by Edgar Lee Masters

Amanda Barker

 Henry got me with child, 
Knowing that I could not bring forth life 
Without losing my own.
In my youth therefore I entered the portals of dust.
Traveler, it is believed in the village where I lived That Henry loved me with a husband's love, But I proclaim from the dust That he slew me to gratify his hatred.


by Emily Dickinson

Title divine -- is mine!

 Title divine -- is mine!
The Wife -- without the Sign!
Acute Degree -- conferred on me --
Empress of Calvary!
Royal -- all but the Crown!
Betrothed -- without the swoon
God sends us Women --
When you -- hold -- Garnet to Garnet --
Gold -- to Gold --
Born -- Bridalled -- Shrouded --
In a Day --
Tri Victory
"My Husband" -- women say --
Stroking the Melody --
Is this -- the way?


by Anne Sexton

Where It Was At Back Then

 Husband,
last night I dreamt
they cut off your hands and feet.
Husband, you whispered to me, Now we are both incomplete.
Husband, I held all four in my arms like sons and daughters.
Husband, I bent slowly down and washed them in magical waters.
Husband, I placed each one where it belonged on you.
"A miracle," you said and we laughed the laugh of the well-to-do.


by Robert Burns

50. Another on the said Occasion

 ONE Queen Artemisia, as old stories tell,
When deprived of her husband she loved so well,
In respect for the love and affection he show’d her,
She reduc’d him to dust and she drank up the powder.
But Queen Netherplace, of a diff’rent complexion, When called on to order the fun’ral direction, Would have eat her dead lord, on a slender pretence, Not to show her respect, but—to save the expense!


by Alan Dugan

Nomenclature

 My mother never heard of Freud
and she decided as a little girl
that she would call her husband Dick
no matter what his first name was
and did.
He called her Ditty.
They called me Bud, and our generic names amused my analyst.
That must, she said, explain the crazy times I had in bed and quoted Freud: "Life is pain.
" "What do women want?" and "My prosthesis does not speak French.
"


by William Carlos (WCW) Williams

The Young Housewife

 At ten AM the young housewife
moves about in negligee behind
the wooden walls of her husband's house.
I pass solitary in my car.
Then again she comes to the curb to call the ice-man, fish-man, and stands shy, uncorseted, tucking in stray ends of hair, and I compare her to a fallen leaf.
The noiseless wheels of my car rush with a crackling sound over dried leaves as I bow and pass smiling.


by Robert Burns

38. Epitaph on my Ever Honoured Father

 O YE whose cheek the tear of pity stains,
 Draw near with pious rev’rence, and attend!
Here lie the loving husband’s dear remains,
 The tender father, and the gen’rous friend;
The pitying heart that felt for human woe,
 The dauntless heart that fear’d no human pride;
The friend of man-to vice alone a foe;
 For “ev’n his failings lean’d to virtue’s side.
” 1 Note 1.
Goldsmith.
—R.
B.
[back]


by Walt Whitman

Among the Multitude.

 AMONG the men and women, the multitude, 
I perceive one picking me out by secret and divine signs, 
Acknowledging none else—not parent, wife, husband, brother, child, any nearer than I
 am; 
Some are baffled—But that one is not—that one knows me.
Ah, lover and perfect equal! I meant that you should discover me so, by my faint indirections; And I, when I meet you, mean to discover you by the like in you.


by Erica Jong

Autobiographical

 The lover in these poems
is me;
the doctor,
Love.
He appears as husband, lover analyst & muse, as father, son & maybe even God & surely death.
All this is true.
The man you turn to in the dark is many men.
This is an open secret women share & yet agree to hide as if they might then hide it from themselves.
I will not hide.
I write in the nude.
I name names.
I am I.
The doctor's name is Love.


by Carolyn Kizer

Poets Household

 1

The stout poet tiptoes
On the lawn.
Surprisingly limber In his thick sweater Like a middle-age burglar.
Is the young robin injured? 2 She bends to feed the geese Revealing the neck’s white curve Below her curled hair.
Her husband seems not to watch, But she shimmers in his poem.
3 A hush is on the house, The only noise, a fern, Rustling in a vase.
On the porch, the fierce poet Is chanting words to himself.


by Walter de la Mare

Alone

 Over the fence, the dead settle in
for a journey.
Nine o'clock.
You are alone for the first time today.
Boys asleep.
Husband out.
A beer bottle sweats in your hand, and sea lavender clogs the air with perfume.
Think of yourself.
Your arms rest with nothing to do after weeks spent attending to others.
Your thoughts turn to whether butter will last the week, how much longer the car can run on its partial tank of gas.


by Edgar Lee Masters

Ollie McGee

 Have you seen walking through the village
A man with downcast eyes and haggard face?
That is my husband who, by secret cruelty
never to be told, robbed me of my youth and my beauty;
Till at last, wrinkled and with yellow teeth,
And with broken pride and shameful humility,
I sank into the grave.
But what think you gnaws at my husband's heart? The face of what I was, the face of what he made me! These are driving him to the place where I lie.
In death, therefore, I am avenged.


by Robert Herrick

AN ODE FOR BEN JONSON

 Ah Ben!
Say how or when
Shall we, thy guests,
Meet at those lyric feasts,
Made at the Sun,
The Dog, the Triple Tun;
Where we such clusters had,
As made us nobly wild, not mad?
And yet each verse of thine
Out-did the meat, out-did the frolic wine.
My Ben! Or come again, Or send to us Thy wit's great overplus; But teach us yet Wisely to husband it, Lest we that talent spend; And having once brought to an end That precious stock,--the store Of such a wit the world should have no more.