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Famous Short September Poems. Short September Poetry by Famous Poets

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

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

 
by Emily Dickinson

Septembers Baccalaureate

 September's Baccalaureate
A combination is
Of Crickets -- Crows -- and Retrospects
And a dissembling Breeze

That hints without assuming --
An Innuendo sear
That makes the Heart put up its Fun
And turn Philosopher.


by Mother Goose

Thirty Days Hath September


Thirty days hath September,
April, June, and November;
February has twenty-eight alone,
All the rest have thirty-one,
Excepting leap-year, that's the time
When February's days are twenty-nine.


by Carl Sandburg

Hydrangeas

 Dragoons, I tell you the white hydrangeas
 turn rust and go soon.
Already mid September a line of brown runs
 over them.
One sunset after another tracks the faces, the
 petals.
Waiting, they look over the fence for what
 way they go.


by Hilaire Belloc

September

 Lo! a ripe sheaf of many golden days 
Gleaned by the year in autumn's harvest ways, 
With here and there, blood-tinted as an ember, 
Some crimson poppy of a late delight 
Atoning in its splendor for the flight 
Of summer blooms and joys­
This is September.


by Carl Sandburg

Home Fires

 IN a Yiddish eating place on Rivington Street … faces … coffee spots … children kicking at the night stars with bare toes from bare buttocks.
They know it is September on Rivington when the red tomaytoes cram the pushcarts,
Here the children snozzle at milk bottles, children who have never seen a cow.
Here the stranger wonders how so many people remember where they keep home fires.


by Richard Brautigan

My Nose Is Growing Old

 Yup.
A long lazy September look
in the mirror
say it's true.

I'm 31
and my nose is growing
old.

It starts about 1/2
an inch
below the bridge
and strolls geriatrically
down
for another inch or so:
stopping.

Fortunately, the rest
of the nose is comparatively
young.

I wonder if girls
will want me with an
old nose.

I can hear them now
the heartless bitches!

"He's cute
but his nose
is old."


by Carl Sandburg

Sumach and Birds

 IF you never came with a pigeon rainbow purple
Shining in the six o’clock September dusk:
If the red sumach on the autumn roads
Never danced on the flame of your eyelashes:
If the red-haws never burst in a million
Crimson fingertwists of your heartcrying:
If all this beauty of yours never crushed me
Then there are many flying acres of birds for me,
Many drumming gray wings going home I shall see,
Many crying voices riding the north wind.


by Lawrence Ferlinghetti

The Pennycandystore Beyond The El

 The pennycandystore beyond the El
is where i first 
 fell in love
 with unreality
Jellybeans glowed in the semi-gloom
of that september afternoon
A cat upon the counter moved among
 the licorice sticks
 and tootsie rolls
 and Oh Boy Gum

Outside the leaves were falling as they died

A wind had blown away the sun

A girl ran in
Her hair was rainy
Her breasts were breathless in the little room

Outside the leaves were falling
 and they cried
 Too soon! too soon!


by Geoffrey Hill

September Song

 born 19.6.32 - deported 24.9.42

Undesirable you may have been, untouchable
you were not. Not forgotten
or passed over at the proper time.

As estimated, you died. Things marched,
sufficient, to that end.
Just so much Zyklon and leather, patented
terror, so many routine cries.

(I have made
an elegy for myself it
is true)

September fattens on vines. Roses
flake from the wall. The smoke
of harmless fires drifts to my eyes.

This is plenty. This is more than enough.


by Lawrence Ferlinghetti

Number 20

 The pennycandystore beyond the El
is where I first
  fell in love
    with unreality
Jellybeans glowed in the semi-gloom
of that september afternoon
A cat upon the counter moved among
    the licorice sticks
  and tootsie rolls
 and Oh Boy Gum

Outside the leaves were falling as they died

A wind had blown away the sun

A girl ran in 
Her hair was rainy
Her breasts were breathless in the little room

Outside the leaves were falling
   and they cried
     Too soon! too soon!


by Constantine P Cavafy

Manuel Komninos

 One dreary September day
Emperor Manuel Komninos
felt his death was near.
The court astrologers -bribed, of course- went on babbling
about how many years he still had to live.
But while they were having their say,
he remebered an old religious custom
and ordered ecclesiastical vestments
to be brought from a monastery,
and he put them on, glad to assume
the modest image of a priest or monk.

Happy all those who believe,
and like Emperor Manuel end their lives
dressed modestly in their faith.