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Short Poetry by Popular Famous Poets

 Poet
1 William Wordsworth
2 Emily Dickinson
3 William Shakespeare
4 Maya Angelou
5 Langston Hughes
6 Robert Frost
7 Walt Whitman
8 Rabindranath Tagore
9 Shel Silverstein
10 William Blake
11 Pablo Neruda
12 Sylvia Plath
13 Edward Estlin (E E) Cummings
14 William Butler Yeats
15 Tupac Shakur
16 Oscar Wilde
17 Rudyard Kipling
18 Sandra Cisneros
19 Alfred Lord Tennyson
20 Alice Walker
21 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
22 Billy Collins
23 Carol Ann Duffy
24 Christina Rossetti
25 Charles Bukowski
26 Edgar Allan Poe
27 Sarojini Naidu
28 John Donne
29 Ralph Waldo Emerson
30 Nikki Giovanni
31 John Keats
32 Raymond Carver
33 Mark Twain
34 Thomas Hardy
35 Anne Sexton
36 Lewis Carroll
37 Elizabeth Barrett Browning
38 Gary Soto
39 Carl Sandburg
40 Alexander Pushkin
41 Gwendolyn Brooks
42 Henry David Thoreau
43 George (Lord) Byron
44 Spike Milligan
45 Margaret Atwood
46 Muhammad Ali
47 Roger McGough
48 Sara Teasdale
49 Jane Austen
50 Allen Ginsberg
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Famous Short October Poems

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

Other Short Poem Pages

October | Short Famous Poems and Poets

 
by Emily Dickinson

There are two Ripenings -- one -- of sight

 There are two Ripenings -- one -- of sight --
Whose forces Spheric wind
Until the Velvet product
Drop spicy to the ground --
A homelier maturing --
A process in the Bur --
That teeth of Frosts alone disclose
In far October Air.


by Robert Louis Stevenson

Ad Magistrum Ludi

 NOW in the sky
And on the hearth of
Now in a drawer the direful cane,
That sceptre of the .
.
.
reign, And the long hawser, that on the back Of Marsyas fell with many a whack, Twice hardened out of Scythian hides, Now sleep till the October ides.


by William Butler Yeats

A Man Young And Old: V. The Empty Cup

 A crazy man that found a cup,
When all but dead of thirst,
Hardly dared to wet his mouth
Imagining, moon-accursed,
That another mouthful
And his beating heart would burst.
October last I found it too But found it dry as bone, And for that reason am I crazed And my sleep is gone.


by Emily Dickinson

Summer has two Beginnings --

 Summer has two Beginnings --
Beginning once in June --
Beginning in October
Affectingly again --

Without, perhaps, the Riot
But graphicker for Grace --
As finer is a going
Than a remaining Face --

Departing then -- forever --
Forever -- until May --
Forever is deciduous
Except to those who die --


by Henry David Thoreau

On Fields Oer Which the Reapers Hand has Passed

 On fields o'er which the reaper's hand has pass'd
Lit by the harvest moon and autumn sun,
My thoughts like stubble floating in the wind
And of such fineness as October airs,
There after harvest could I glean my life
A richer harvest reaping without toil,
And weaving gorgeous fancies at my will
In subtler webs than finest summer haze.


by Carl Sandburg

Theme In Yellow

 I spot the hills
With yellow balls in autumn.
I light the prairie cornfields Orange and tawny gold clusters And I am called pumpkins.
On the last of October When dusk is fallen Children join hands And circle round me Singing ghost songs And love to the harvest moon; I am a jack-o'-lantern With terrible teeth And the children know I am fooling.


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 Siegfried Sassoon

Autumn

 October's bellowing anger breaks and cleaves 
The bronzed battalions of the stricken wood 
In whose lament I hear a voice that grieves 
For battle’s fruitless harvest, and the feud 
Of outraged men.
Their lives are like the leaves Scattered in flocks of ruin, tossed and blown Along the westering furnace flaring red.
O martyred youth and manhood overthrown, The burden of your wrongs is on my head.


by Patrick Kavanagh

Memory Of My Father

 Every old man I see
Reminds me of my father
When he had fallen in love with death
One time when sheaves were gathered.
That man I saw in Gardner Street Stumbled on the kerb was one, He stared at me half-eyed, I might have been his son.
And I remember the musician Faltering over his fiddle In Bayswater, London, He too set me the riddle.
Every old man I see In October-coloured weather Seems to say to me: "I was once your father.
"


by James Wright

Autumn Begins In Martins Ferry Ohio

 In the Shreve High football stadium,
I think of Polacks nursing long beers in Tiltonsville,
And gray faces of Negroes in the blast furnace at Benwood,
And the ruptured night watchman of Wheeling Steel,
Dreaming of heroes.
All the proud fathers are ashamed to go home.
Their women cluck like starved pullets, Dying for love.
Therefore, Their sons grow suicidally beautiful At the beginning of October, And gallop terribly against each other's bodies.