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Famous Short Clothes Poems. Short Clothes Poetry by Famous Poets

Famous Short Clothes Poems. Short Clothes Poetry by Famous Poets. A collection of the all-time best Clothes 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 Wang Wei

In The Hills

 White rocks jutting from Ching stream
The weather's cold, red leaves few
No rain at all on the paths in the hills
Clothes are wet with the blue air.


by Ogden Nash

Requiem

 There was a young belle of Natchez
Whose garments were always in patchez.
When comment arose On the state of her clothes, She drawled, When Ah itchez, Ah scratchez!


by Richard Brautigan

Romeo and Juliet

 If you will die for me, 
I will die for you 
and our graves will be like two lovers washing 
their clothes together 
in a laundromat 
If you will bring the soap 
I will bring the bleach.


by William Butler Yeats

Old Tom Again

 Things out of perfection sail,
And all their swelling canvas wear,
Nor shall the self-begotten fail
Though fantastic men suppose
Building-yard and stormy shore,
Winding-sheet and swaddling - clothes.


by Robert Herrick

UPON JULIAS CLOTHES

 Whenas in silks my Julia goes,
Till, then, methinks, how sweetly flows
That liquefaction of her clothes!
Next, when I cast mine eyes, and see
That brave vibration each way free;
O how that glittering taketh


by Emily Dickinson

Perhaps they do not go so far

 Perhaps they do not go so far
As we who stay, suppose --
Perhaps come closer, for the lapse
Of their corporeal clothes --

It may be know so certainly
How short we have to fear
That comprehension antedates
And estimates us there --


by Emily Dickinson

A faded Boy -- in sallow Clothes

 A faded Boy -- in sallow Clothes
Who drove a lonesome Cow
To pastures of Oblivion --
A statesman's Embryo --

The Boys that whistled are extinct --
The Cows that fed and thanked
Remanded to a Ballad's Barn
Or Clover's Retrospect --


by Federico García Lorca

Weeping

 Weeping,
I go down the street
Grotesque, without solution
With the sadness of Cyrano
And Quixote.
Redeeming Infinite impossiblities With the rhythm of the clock.
(The captive voice, far away.
Put on a cricket' clothes.
)


by Mother Goose

Little Polly Flinders


Little Polly Flinders
Sat among the cinders
    Warming her pretty little toes;
Her mother came and caught her,
Whipped her little daughter
    For spoiling her nice new clothes.


by Wang Wei

A Study

 Light cloud pavilion light rain
Dark yard day weary open
Sit look green moss colour
About to on person clothes come 

There's light cloud, and drizzle round the pavilion,
In the dark yard, I wearily open a gate.
I sit and look at the colour of green moss, Ready for people's clothing to pick up.


by Emily Dickinson

How fits his Umber Coat

 How fits his Umber Coat
The Tailor of the Nut?
Combined without a seam
Like Raiment of a Dream --

Who spun the Auburn Cloth?
Computed how the girth?
The Chestnut aged grows
In those primeval Clothes --

We know that we are wise --
Accomplished in Surprise --
Yet by this Countryman --
This nature -- how undone!


by Philip Larkin

Water

 If I were called in
To construct a religion
I should make use of water.
Going to church Would entail a fording To dry, different clothes; My liturgy would employ Images of sousing, A furious devout drench, And I should raise in the east A glass of water Where any-angled light Would congregate endlessly.


by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

THE MOUNTAIN VILLAGE.

 "THE mountain village was destroy'd;
But see how soon is fill'd the void!
Shingles and boards, as by magic arise,
The babe in his cradle and swaddling-clothes lies;
How blest to trust to God's protection!"

Behold a wooden new erection,
So that, if sparks and wind but choose,
God's self at such a game must lose!

 1821.
*


by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

MAIDEN WISHES.

 WHAT pleasure to me
A bridegroom would be!
When married we are,
They call us mamma.
No need then to sew, To school we ne'er go; Command uncontroll'd, Have maids, whom to scold; Choose clothes at our ease, Of what tradesmen we please; Walk freely about, And go to each rout, And unrestrained are By papa or mamma.
1767-9.


by Richard Brautigan

San Francisco

 This poem was found written on a paper bag by Richard
Brautigan in a laundromat in San Francisco.
The author is unknown.
By accident, you put Your money in my Machine (#4) By accident, I put My money in another Machine (#6) On purpose, I put Your clothes in the Empty machine full Of water and no Clothes It was lonely.


by Susan Rich

For Sale

 Xhosa women in clothes too light

for the weather have brought wild flowers

and sit sloped along the Claremont road.
I see her through rolled windows, watch her watch me to decide if I’ll pay.
It’s South Africa, after all, after apartheid; but we’re still idling here, my car to her curb, my automatic locks to her inadequate wage.


by Mother Goose

Old Chairs To Mend


If I'd as much money as I could spend,
I never would cry old chairs to mend;
Old chairs to mend, old chairs to mend;
I never would cry old chairs to mend.

If I'd as much money as I could tell,
I never would cry old clothes to sell;
Old clothes to sell, old clothes to sell;
I never would cry old clothes to sell.



by A S J Tessimond

Never

 Suddenly, desperately
I thought, "No, never
In millions of minutes
Can I for one second
Calm-leaving my own self
Like clothes on a chair-back
And quietly opening
The door of one house
(No, not one of all millions)
Of blood, flesh and brain,
Climb the nerve-stair and look
From the tower, from the windows
Of eyes not my own: .
.
.
No, never, no, never!"


by A S J Tessimond

Cocoon For A Skeleton

 Clothes: to compose
The furtive, lone
Pillar of bone
To some repose.
To let hands shirk Utterance behind A pocket's blind Deceptive smirk.
To mask, belie The undue haste Of breast for breast Or thigh for thigh.
To screen, conserve The pose, when death Half strips the sheath And leaves the nerve.
To edit, glose Lyric desire And slake its fire In polished prose.


by Bob Kaufman

Round About Midnight

 Jazz radio on a midnight kick,
Round about Midnight.
Sitting on the bed, With a jazz type chick Round about Midnight, Piano laughter, in my ears, Round about Midnight.
Stirring up laughter, dying tears, Round about Midnight.
Soft blue voices, muted grins, Excited voices, Father's sins, Round about Midnight.
Come on baby, take off your clothes, Round about Midnight.


by Edgar Lee Masters

Jonas Keene

 Why did Albert Schirding kill himself
Trying to be County Superintendent of Schools,
Blest as he was with the means of life
And wonderful children, bringing him honor
Ere he was sixty?
If even one of my boys could have run a news-stand,
Or one of my girls could have married a decent man,
I should not have walked in the rain
And jumped into bed with clothes all wet,
Refusing medical aid.


by Federico García Lorca

The Little Mute Boy

 The litle boy was looking for his voice.
(The King of the crickets had it.
) In a drop of water the little boy was looking for his voice.
I do not want it for speaking with; I will make a ring of it so that he may wear my silence on his little finger.
In a drop of water the little boy was looking for his voice.
(The captive voice, far away.
Put on a cricket' clothes.
)


by William Butler Yeats

The Magi

 Now as at all times I can see in the mind's eye,
In their stiff, painted clothes, the pale unsatisfied ones
Appear and disappear in the blue depth of the sky
With all their ancient faces like rain-beaten stones,
And all their helms of Silver hovering side by side,
And all their eyes still fixed, hoping to find once more,
Being by Calvary's turbulence unsatisfied,
The uncontrollable mystery on the bestial floor.


by Alfred Lord Tennyson

In Memoriam A. H. H.: 5. Sometimes I Hold it half a Sin

 I sometimes hold it half a sin
To put in words the grief I feel;
For words, like Nature, half reveal
And half conceal the Soul within.
But, for the unquiet heart and brain, A use in measured language lies; The sad mechanic exercise, Like dull narcotics, numbing pain.
In words, like weeds, I'll wrap me o'er, Like coarsest clothes against the cold; But that large grief which these enfold Is given in outline and no more.


by Robert Herrick

DELIGHT IN DISORDER

 A sweet disorder in the dress
Kindles in clothes a wantonness;
A lawn about the shoulders thrown
Into a fine distraction;
An erring lace, which here and there
Enthrals the crimson stomacher;
A cuff neglectful, and thereby
Ribbons to flow confusedly;
A winning wave, deserving note,
In the tempestuous petticoat;
A careless shoe-string, in whose tie
I see a wild civility;--
Do more bewitch me, than when art
Is too precise in every part.


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