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Famous Short July Poems. Short July Poetry by Famous Poets

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

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

 
by Mother Goose

Bees


A swarm of bees in May
Is worth a load of hay;
A swarm of bees in June
Is worth a silver spoon;
A swarm of bees in July
Is not worth a fly.


by David Lehman

To William Holden

 (July 15) 

We know who 
the guards are 
in those POW 
movies with brutal 
but easy to 
fool fat Germans 
or sadistic Japanese 
who never smiled 
they're the grown-ups 
we're the kids 
that's the secret


by Allen Ginsberg

Those Two

 That tree said
 I don't like that white car under me,
 it smells gasoline
That other tree next to it said
 O you're always complaining
 you're a neurotic
 you can see by the way you're bent over.
July 6, 1981, 8 p.
m.


by Robert Herrick

THE SUCCESSION OF THE FOUR SWEET MONTHS

 First, April, she with mellow showers
Opens the way for early flowers;
Then after her comes smiling May,
In a more rich and sweet array;
Next enters June, and brings us more
Gems than those two that went before;
Then, lastly, July comes, and she
More wealth brings in than all those three.


by Emily Dickinson

Answer July

 Answer July --
Where is the Bee --
Where is the Blush --
Where is the Hay?

Ah, said July --
Where is the Seed --
Where is the Bud --
Where is the May --
Answer Thee -- Me --

Nay -- said the May --
Show me the Snow --
Show me the Bells --
Show me the Jay!

Quibbled the Jay --
Where be the Maize --
Where be the Haze --
Where be the Bur?
Here -- said the Year --


by Michael Ondaatje

(Inner Tube)

 On the warm July river
head back

upside down river
for a roof

slowly paddling
towards an estuary between trees

there's a dog
learning to swim near me
friends on shore

my head
dips
back to the eyebrow
I'm the prow
on an ancient vessel,
this afternoon
I'm going down to Peru
soul between my teeth

a blue heron
with its awkward
broken backed flap
upside down

one of us is wrong

he
his blue grey thud
thinking he knows
the blue way
out of here

or me


by Anna Akhmatova

Everything

 Everything’s looted, betrayed and traded,
black death’s wing’s overhead.
Everything’s eaten by hunger, unsated, so why does a light shine ahead? By day, a mysterious wood, near the town, breathes out cherry, a cherry perfume.
By night, on July’s sky, deep, and transparent, new constellations are thrown.
And something miraculous will come close to the darkness and ruin, something no-one, no-one, has known, though we’ve longed for it since we were children.