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Famous Short Self Poems. Short Self Poetry by Famous Poets

Famous Short Self Poems. Short Self Poetry by Famous Poets. A collection of the all-time best Self 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 Anne Killigrew

An Epitaph on her Self.

 WHen I am Dead, few Friends attend my Hearse, 
And for a Monument, I leave my VERSE.


by Dorothy Parker

Post-Graduate

 Hope it was that tutored me,
And Love that taught me more;
And now I learn at Sorrow's knee
The self-same lore.


by Hilaire Belloc

The world is full of double beds

 The world is full of double beds
And most delightful maidenheads, 
Which being so, there’s no excuse
For sodomy of self-abuse.


by Edward Estlin (E E) Cummings

a total stranger one black day

a total stranger one black day
knocked living the hell out of me-- 

who found forgiveness hard because
my(as it happened)self he was 

-but now that fiend and i are such


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 Wanda Phipps

Morning Poem #48

 cold bed
gray day
memories
of "birds of prey"
talk for the sake
of words shaping
mouth moving
thoughts changing
energy moving
outside of self
talk for the sake
of a warm bed
a sanny day
and memories
of birds at play


by Denise Duhamel

Buddhist Barbie

 In the 5th century B.
C.
an Indian philosopher Gautama teaches "All is emptiness" and "There is no self.
" In the 20th century A.
D.
Barbie agrees, but wonders how a man with such a belly could pose, smiling, and without a shirt.


by George William Russell

Mistrust

 YOU look at me with wan, bright eyes
 When in the deeper world I stray:
You fear some hidden ambush lies
 In wait to call me, “Come away.
” What if I see behind the veil Your starry self beseeching me, Or at its stern command grow pale, “Let her be free, let her be free”?


by Robert Frost

Atmosphere

 Inscription for a Garden Wall

Winds blow the open grassy places bleak;
But where this old wall burns a sunny cheek,
They eddy over it too toppling weak
To blow the earth or anything self-clear;
Moisture and color and odor thicken here.
The hours of daylight gather atmosphere.


by Robert Burns

182. The Libeller’s Self-reproof

 RASH 1 mortal, and slanderous poet, thy name
Shall no longer appear in the records of Fame;
Dost not know that old Mansfield, who writes like the Bible,
Says, the more ’tis a truth, sir, the more ’tis a libel!


 Note 1.
These are rhymes of dubious authenticity.
—Lang.
[back]


by Anne Killigrew

St. John Baptist Painted by her self in the Wilderness with Angels appearing to him and with a Lamb by him

 THe Sun's my Fire, when it does shine, 
The hollow Spring's my Cave of Wine, 
The Rocks and Woods afford me Meat; 
This Lamb and I on one Dish eat: 
The neighbouring Herds my Garments send, 
My Pallet the kind Earth doth lend: 
Excess and Grandure I decline, 
M'Associates onely are Divine.


by Gerard Manley Hopkins

Moonless darkness stands between

 Moonless darkness stands between.
Past, the Past, no more be seen! But the Bethlehem-star may lead me To the sight of Him Who freed me From the self that I have been.
Make me pure, Lord: Thou art holy; Make me meek, Lord: Thou wert lowly; Now beginning, and alway: Now begin, on Christmas day.


by Coventry Patmore

Unthrift

 Ah, wasteful woman, she who may 
On her sweet self set her own price, 
Knowing men cannot choose but pay, 
How she has cheapen'd paradise; 
How given for nought her priceless gift, 
How spoil'd the bread and spill'd the wine, 
Which, spent with due, respective thrift, 
Had made brutes men, and men divine.


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 Emily Dickinson

On a Columnar Self --

 On a Columnar Self --
How ample to rely
In Tumult -- or Extremity --
How good the Certainty

That Lever cannot pry --
And Wedge cannot divide
Conviction -- That Granitic Base --
Though None be on our Side --

Suffice Us -- for a Crowd --
Ourself -- and Rectitude --
And that Assembly -- not far off
From furthest Spirit -- God --


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 Thomas Hardy

The Self-Unseeing

 Here is the ancient floor,
Footworn and hollowed and thin,
Here was the former door
Where the dead feet walked in.
She sat here in her chair, Smiling into the fire; He who played stood there, Bowing it higher and higher.
Childlike, I danced in a dream; Blessings emblazoned that day; Everything glowed with a gleam; Yet we were looking away!


by Edgar Lee Masters

Constance Hately

 You praise my self-sacrifice, Spoon River, 
In rearing Irene and Mary, 
Orphans of my older sister! 
And you censure Irene and Mary 
For their contempt of me! 
But praise not my self-sacrifice, 
And censure not their contempt; 
I reared them, I cared for them, true enough!-- 
But I poisoned my benefactions 
With constant reminders of their dependence.


by Maya Angelou

Remembrance

 Your hands easy
weight, teasing the bees
hived in my hair, your smile at the
slope of my cheek.
On the occasion, you press above me, glowing, spouting readiness, mystery rapes my reason When you have withdrawn your self and the magic, when only the smell of your love lingers between my breasts, then, only then, can I greedily consume your presence.


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 Maya Angelou

Rememberance

Your hands easy
weight, teasing the bees
hived in my hair, your smile at the
slope of my cheek.
On the occasion, you press above me, glowing, spouting readiness, mystery rapes my reason When you have withdrawn your self and the magic, when only the smell of your love lingers between my breasts, then, only then, can I greedily consume your presence.


by Emily Dickinson

I could not prove the Years had feet --

 I could not prove the Years had feet --
Yet confident they run
Am I, from symptoms that are past
And Series that are done --

I find my feet have further Goals --
I smile upon the Aims
That felt so ample -- Yesterday --
Today's -- have vaster claims --

I do not doubt the self I was
Was competent to me --
But something awkward in the fit --
Proves that -- outgrown -- I see --


by Thomas Edward Brown

If Thou Couldst Empty All Thyself Of Self

 If thou could'st empty all thyself of self, 
Like to a shell dishabited,
Then might He find thee on the ocean shelf, 
And say, "This is not dead,"
And fill thee with Himself instead.
But thou are all replete with very thou And hast such shrewd activity, That when He comes He says, "This is enow Unto itself - 'twere better let it be, It is so small and full, there is no room for me.
"


by Denise Levertov

The Dog of Art

 That dog with daisies for eyes
who flashes forth
flame of his very self at every bark
is the Dog of Art.
Worked in wool, his blind eyes look inward to caverns and jewels which they see perfectly, and his voice measures forth the treasure in music sharp and loud, sharp and bright, bright flaming barks, and growling smoky soft, the Dog of Art turns to the world the quietness of his eyes.


by William Stafford

Across Kansas

 My family slept those level miles
but like a bell rung deep till dawn
I drove down an aisle of sound,
nothing real but in the bell,
past the town where I was born.
Once you cross a land like that you own your face more: what the light struck told a self; every rock denied all the rest of the world.
We stopped at Sharon Springs and ate-- My state still dark, my dream too long to tell.


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