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Famous Short Image Poems. Short Image Poetry by Famous Poets

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

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

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by Kobayashi Issa

Under the image of Buddha

 Under the image of Buddha
all these spring flowers
seem a little tiresome.


by Richard Brautigan

Milk For The Duck

 ZAP!
unlaid / 20 days

my sexual image
isn't worth a shit.
If I were dead I couldn't attract a female fly.


by Emily Dickinson

Image of Light Adieu --

 Image of Light, Adieu --
Thanks for the interview --
So long -- so short --
Preceptor of the whole --
Coeval Cardinal --
Impart -- Depart --


by Hilaire Belloc

The Statue

 When we are dead, some Hunting-boy will pass
And find a stone half-hidden in tall grass
And grey with age: but having seen that stone
(Which was your image), ride more slowly on.


by Wallace Stevens

Valley Candle

 My candle burned alone in an immense valley.
Beams of the huge night converged upon it, Until the wind blew.
The beams of the huge night Converged upon its image, Until the wind blew.


by William Butler Yeats

The Lover Mourns For The Loss Of Love

 Pale brows, still hands and dim hair,
I had a beautiful friend
And dreamed that the old despair
Would end in love in the end:
She looked in my heart one day
And saw your image was there;
She has gone weeping away.


by Emily Dickinson

A Charm invests a face

 A Charm invests a face
Imperfectly beheld --
The Lady date not lift her Veil
For fear it be dispelled --

But peers beyond her mesh --
And wishes -- and denies --
Lest Interview -- annul a want
That Image -- satisfies --


by Eugene Field

A heine love song

 The image of the moon at night
All trembling in the ocean lies,
But she, with calm and steadfast light,
Moves proudly through the radiant skies,

How like the tranquil moon thou art--
Thou fairest flower of womankind!
And, look, within my fluttering heart
Thy image trembling is enshrined!


by Georg Trakl

Klage

 Dreamless sleep - the dusky Eagles
nightlong rush about my head,
man's golden image drowned
in timeless icy tides.
On jagged reefs his purpling body.
Dark echoes sound above the seas.
Stormy sadness' sister, see our lonely skiff sunk down by starry skies: the silent face of night.


by Jack Spicer

Fifteen False Propositions Against God - Section XIV

 If the diamond ring turns brass
Mama's going to buy you a looking glass
Marianne Moore and Ezra Pound and William Carlos Williams
going on a picnic together when they were all students at the
University of Pennsylvania
Now they are all over seventy and the absent baby
Is a mirror sheltering their image.


by James Thomson

Sunday up the River

 MY love o'er the water bends dreaming; 
 It glideth and glideth away: 
She sees there her own beauty, gleaming 
 Through shadow and ripple and spray.
O tell her, thou murmuring river, As past her your light wavelets roll, How steadfast that image for ever Shines pure in pure depths of my soul.


by Carl Sandburg

Gypsy

 I ASKED a gypsy pal
To imitate an old image
And speak old wisdom.
She drew in her chin, Made her neck and head The top piece of a Nile obelisk and said: Snatch off the gag from thy mouth, child, And be free to keep silence.
Tell no man anything for no man listens, Yet hold thy lips ready to speak.


by Robert Burns

37. Epitaph on William Muir

 AN HONEST man here lies at rest
As e’er God with his image blest;
The friend of man, the friend of truth,
The friend of age, and guide of youth:
Few hearts like his, with virtue warm’d,
Few heads with knowledge so informed:
If there’s another world, he lives in bliss;
If there is none, he made the best of this.


by Stephen Crane

And the sins of the fathers shall be

 "And the sins of the fathers shall be
visited upon the heads of the children,
even unto the third and fourth
generation of them that hate me.
" Well, then I hate thee, unrighteous picture; Wicked image, I hate thee; So, strike with thy vengeance The heads of those little men Who come blindly.
It will be a brave thing.


by John Clare

What Is Life?

 Resembles Life what once was held of Light,
Too ample in itself for human sight ?
An absolute Self--an element ungrounded--
All, that we see, all colours of all shade
[Image]By encroach of darkness made ?--
Is very life by consciousness unbounded ?
And all the thoughts, pains, joys of mortal breath,
A war-embrace of wrestling Life and Death ?


by William Blake

The Voice Of The Ancient Bard

 Youth of delight come hither.
And see the opening morn, Image of truth new born.
Doubt is fled & clouds of reason.
Dark disputes & artful teazing, Folly is an endless maze, Tangled roots perplex her ways, How many have fallen there! They stumble all night over bones of the dead: And feel they know not what but care; And wish to lead others when they should be led


by Seamus Heaney

Anahorish

 My "place of clear water,"
the first hill in the world
where springs washed into
the shiny grass

and darkened cobbles
in the bed of the lane.
Anahorish, soft gradient of consonant, vowel-meadow, after-image of lamps swung through the yards on winter evenings.
With pails and barrows those mound-dwellers go waist-deep in mist to break the light ice at wells and dunghills.


by Mark Twain

To Jennie

 Good-bye! a kind good-bye,
I bid you now, my friend,
And though 'tis sad to speak the word,
To destiny I bend

And though it be decreed by Fate
That we ne'er meet again,
Your image, graven on my heart,
Forever shall remain.
Aye, in my heart thoult have a place, Among the friends held dear,- Nor shall the hand of Time efface The memories written there.
Goodbye, S.
L.
C.


by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

THE SWISS ALPS.

 YESTERDAY brown was still thy head, as the locks 
of my loved one,

Whose sweet image so dear silently beckons afar.
Silver-grey is the early snow to-day on thy summit, Through the tempestuous night streaming fast over thy brow.
Youth, alas, throughout life as closely to age is united As, in some changeable dream, yesterday blends with to-day.
Uri, October 7th, 1797.


by Lew Welch

The image as in a Hexagram:

 The image, as in a Hexagram:

The hermit locks his door against the blizzard.
He keeps the cabin warm.
All winter long he sorts out all he has.
What was well started shall be finished.
What was not, should be thrown away.
In spring he emerges with one garment and a single book.
The cabin is very clean.
Except for that, you'd never guess anyone lived there.


by Robert Burns

246. Song—Robin Shure in Hairst

 HIS face with smile eternal drest,
Just like the Landlord’s to his Guest’s,
High as they hang with creaking din,
To index out the Country Inn.
He looked just as your sign-post Lions do, With aspect fierce, and quite as harmless too.
——————A head, pure, sinless quite of brain and soul, The very image of a barber’s Poll; It shews a human face, and wears a wig, And looks, when well preserv’d, amazing big.


by Louise Bogan

Roman Fountain

 Up from the bronze, I saw
Water without a flaw
Rush to its rest in air,
Reach to its rest, and fall.
Bronze of the blackest shade, An element man-made, Shaping upright the bare Clear gouts of water in air.
O, as with arm and hammer, Still it is good to strive To beat out the image whole, To echo the shout and stammer When full-gushed waters, alive, Strike on the fountain's bowl After the air of summer.


by George William Russell

The Symbol Seduces

 THERE in her old-world garden smiles
A symbol of the world’s desire,
Striving with quaint and lovely wiles
To bind to earth the soul of fire.
And while I sit and listen there, The robe of Beauty falls away From universal things to where Its image dazzles for a day.
Away! the great life calls; I leave For Beauty, Beauty’s rarest flower; For Truth, the lips that ne’er deceive; For Love, I leave Love’s haunted bower.


by Robert Hayden

Perseus

 Her sleeping head with its great gelid mass
of serpents torpidly astir
burned into the mirroring shield--
a scathing image dire
as hated truth the mind accepts at last
and festers on.
I struck.
The shield flashed bare.
Yet even as I lifted up the head and started from that place of gazing silences and terrored stone, I thirsted to destroy.
None could have passed me then-- no garland-bearing girl, no priest or staring boy--and lived.


by Allen Ginsberg

A Desolation

 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.


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