Best Famous Dont Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Dont poems. This is a select list of the best famous Dont poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Dont poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of dont poems.

Search and read the best famous Dont poems, articles about Dont poems, poetry blogs, or anything else Dont poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.

• All Famous Dont Poems

Written by Charles Bukowski | Let It Enfold You either peace or happiness, let it enfold you when i was a young man I felt these things were dumb,unsophisticated. I had bad blood,a twisted mind, a pecarious upbringing. I was hard as granite,I leered at the sun. I trusted no man and especially no woman. I was living a hell in small rooms, I broke things, smashed things, walked through glass, cursed. I challenged everything, was continually being evicted,jailed,in and out of fights,in and aout of my mind. women were something to screw and rail at,i had no male freinds, I changed jobs and cities,I hated holidays, babies,history, newspapers, museums, grandmothers, marriage, movies, spiders, garbagemen, english accents,spain, france,italy,walnuts and the color orange. algebra angred me, opera sickened me, charlie chaplin was a fake and flowers were for pansies. peace an happiness to me were signs of inferiority, tenants of the weak an addled mind. but as I went on with my alley fights, my suicidal years, my passage through any number of women-it gradually began to occur to me that I wasn't diffrent from the others, I was the same, they were all fulsome with hatred, glossed over with petty greivances, the men I fought in alleys had hearts of stone. everybody was nudging, inching, cheating for some insignificant advantage, the lie was the weapon and the plot was emptey, darkness was the dictator. cautiously, I allowed myself to feel good at times. I found moments of peace in cheap rooms just staring at the knobs of some dresser or listening to the rain in the dark. the less i needed the better i felt. maybe the other life had worn me down. I no longer found glamour in topping somebody in conversation. or in mounting the body of some poor drunken female whose life had slipped away into sorrow. I could never accept life as it was, i could never gobble down all its poisons but there were parts, tenous magic parts open for the asking. I re formulated I don't know when, date,time,all that but the change occured. something in me relaxed, smoothed out. i no longer had to prove that i was a man, I did'nt have to prove anything. I began to see things: coffe cups lined up behind a counter in a cafe. or a dog walking along a sidewalk. or the way the mouse on my dresser top stopped there with its body, its ears, its nose, it was fixed, a bit of life caught within itself and its eyes looked at me and they were beautiful. then- it was gone. I began to feel good, I began to feel good in the worst situations and there were plenty of those. like say, the boss behind his desk, he is going to have to fire me. I've missed too many days. he is dressed in a suit, necktie, glasses, he says, "i am going to have to let you go" "it's all right" i tell him. He must do what he must do, he has a wife, a house, children. expenses, most probably a girlfreind. I am sorry for him he is caught. I walk onto the blazing sunshine. the whole day is mine temporailiy, anyhow. (the whole world is at the throat of the world, everybody feels angry, short-changed, cheated, everybody is despondent, dissillusioned) I welcomed shots of peace, tattered shards of happiness. I embraced that stuff like the hottest number, like high heels,breasts, singing,the works. (dont get me wrong, there is such a thing as cockeyed optimism that overlooks all basic problems justr for the sake of itself- this is a sheild and a sickness.) The knife got near my throat again, I almost turned on the gas again but when the good moments arrived again I did'nt fight them off like an alley adversary. I let them take me, i luxuriated in them, I bade them welcome home. I even looked into the mirror once having thought myself to be ugly, I now liked what I saw,almost handsome,yes, a bit ripped and ragged, scares,lumps, odd turns, but all in all, not too bad, almost handsome, better at least than some of those movie star faces like the cheeks of a babys butt. and finally I discovered real feelings fo others, unhearleded, like latley, like this morning, as I was leaving, for the track, i saw my wif in bed, just the shape of her head there (not forgetting centuries of the living and the dead and the dying, the pyarimids, Mozart dead but his music still there in the room, weeds growing, the earth turning, the toteboard waiting for me) I saw the shape of my wife's head, she so still, i ached for her life, just being there under the covers. i kissed her in the, forehead, got down the stairway, got outside, got into my marvelous car, fixed the seatbelt, backed out the drive. feeling warm to the fingertips, down to my foot on the gas pedal, I entered the world once more, drove down the hill past the houses full and emptey of people, i saw the mailman, honked, he waved back at me.

Written by Billy Collins | Another Reason Why I Dont Keep A Gun In The House The neighbors' dog will not stop barking. He is barking the same high, rhythmic bark that he barks every time they leave the house. They must switch him on on their way out. The neighbors' dog will not stop barking. I close all the windows in the house and put on a Beethoven symphony full blast but I can still hear him muffled under the music, barking, barking, barking, and now I can see him sitting in the orchestra, his head raised confidently as if Beethoven had included a part for barking dog. When the record finally ends he is still barking, sitting there in the oboe section barking, his eyes fixed on the conductor who is entreating him with his baton while the other musicians listen in respectful silence to the famous barking dog solo, that endless coda that first established Beethoven as an innovative genius.

Written by Anna Akhmatova | I Dont Like Flowers.. I don't like flowers - they do remind me often Of funerals, of weddings and of balls; Their presence on tables for a dinner calls. But sub-eternal roses' ever simple charm Which was my solace when I was a child, Has stayed - my heritage - a set of years behind, Like Mozart's ever-living music's hum.

Written by Kobayashi Issa | Dont worry spiders Don't worry, spiders, I keep house casually.

Written by Allen Ginsberg | Father Death Blues (Dont Grow Old Part V) Hey Father Death, I'm flying home Hey poor man, you're all alone Hey old daddy, I know where I'm going Father Death, Don't cry any more Mama's there, underneath the floor Brother Death, please mind the store Old Aunty Death Don't hide your bones Old Uncle Death I hear your groans O Sister Death how sweet your moans O Children Deaths go breathe your breaths Sobbing breasts'll ease your Deaths Pain is gone, tears take the rest Genius Death your art is done Lover Death your body's gone Father Death I'm coming home Guru Death your words are true Teacher Death I do thank you For inspiring me to sing this Blues Buddha Death, I wake with you Dharma Death, your mind is new Sangha Death, we'll work it through Suffering is what was born Ignorance made me forlorn Tearful truths I cannot scorn Father Breath once more farewell Birth you gave was no thing ill My heart is still, as time will tell. July 8, 1976 (Over Lake Michigan)

Written by Pablo Neruda | Dont Go Far Off Not Even For A Day Don't go far off, not even for a day, because -- because -- I don't know how to say it: a day is long and I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep. Don't leave me, even for an hour, because then the little drops of anguish will all run together, the smoke that roams looking for a home will drift into me, choking my lost heart. Oh, may your silhouette never dissolve on the beach; may your eyelids never flutter into the empty distance. Don't leave me for a second, my dearest, because in that moment you'll have gone so far I'll wander mazily over all the earth, asking, Will you come back? Will you leave me here, dying?

Written by Matsuo Basho | Dont imitate me Don't imitate me; it's as boring as the two halves of a melon.

Written by D A Levy | Reality Jew When i was a little kid my parents never told me i didn't find out until i got out of high school then when people asked me, I ASKED THEM, "Nationality or Religion?" When i was a little kid my parents brought me up as a christian that when i discovered, i was different i wasnt THAT sick! so at sixteen still being a virgin forest i decided i must be a buddhist monk, Then when people asked me I TOLD THEM, i told them "Not me, man, i don't belong to No-thing In the navy a swabby once asked me, if i wanted to go to the temple with him, i told him "NOt me, man, im the last of the full blooded american indians." it became confusing so after a while when people inquired "Hey..ah..you arnt……are you?" i answered, "with a name like levy, what the hell do you think i am?" A Ritz Cracker? A flying bathtub? An arab? etc. But now its getting pretty hip to be a jew and some of my best friend are becoming converted to halavah, even the crones who suddenly became World War 2 catholics are now praising bagels & lox i still dont feel on ethnic things like "Ok, we all niggers so lets hold hands." & "OK, we're all wops so lets support the mafia," & "Ok, we're all jews so lets weep on each others shoulders." so now when people smile and say, "Hey, you're one of us," i smile and say, "**** you, man, im still alive."

Written by Roger McGough | The Identification So you think its Stephen? Then I'd best make sure Be on the safe side as it were. Ah, theres been a mistake. The hair you see, its black, now Stephens fair ... Whats that? The explosion? Of course, burnt black. Silly of me. I should have known. Then lets get on. The face, is that the face mask? that mask of charred wood blistered scarred could that have been a child's face? The sweater, where intact, looks in fact all too familiar. But one must be sure. The scoutbelt. Yes thats his. I recognise the studs he hammered in not a week ago. At the age when boys get clothes-conscious now you know. Its almost certainly Stephen. But one must be sure. Remove all trace of doubt. Pull out every splinter of hope. Pockets. Empty the pockets. Handkerchief? Could be any schoolboy's. Dirty enough. Cigarettes? Oh this can't be Stephen. I dont allow him to smoke you see. He wouldn't disobey me. Not his father. But that's his penknife. Thats his alright. And thats his key on the keyring Gran gave him just the other night. Then this must be him. I think I know what happened ... ... ... about the cigarettes No doubt he was minding them for one of the older boys. Yes thats it. Thats him. Thats our Stephen.

Written by Yehuda Amichai | I Dont Know If History Repeats Itself I don't Know if history repeats itself But I do know that you don't. I remember that city was didvided Not only between Jews and Arabs, But Between me and you, When we were there together. We made ourselves a womb of dangers We built ourselves a house of deadening wars Like men of far north Who build themselves a safe warm house of deadening ice. The city has been reunited But we haven't been there together. By now I know That History doesn't repeat itself, As I always knew that you wouldn't.