10 Best Famous Earsplitting Poems

Here is a collection of the top 10 all-time best famous Earsplitting poems. This is a select list of the best famous Earsplitting poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Earsplitting poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of earsplitting poems.

• All Famous Earsplitting Poems

 Jim just loves to garden, yes he does. 
He likes nothing better than to put on 
his little overalls and his straw hat. 
He says, "Let's go get those tools, Jim." 
But then doubt begins to set in.
He says, "What is a garden, anyway?"
And thoughts about a "modernistic" garden
begin to trouble him, eat away at his resolve. 
He stands in the driveway a long time. 
"Horticulture is a groping in the dark 
into the obscure and unfamiliar, 
kneeling before a disinterested secret, 
slapping it, punching it like a Chinese puzzle,
birdbrained babbling gibberish, dig and
destroy, pull out and apply salt, 
hoe and spray, before it spreads, burn roots, 
where not desired, with gloved hands, poisonous, 
the self-sacrifice of it, the self-love, 
into the interior, thunderclap, excruciating, 
through the nose, the earsplitting necrology 
of it, the withering, shrivelling, 
the handy hose holder and Persian insect powder 
and smut fungi, the enemies of the iris, 
wireworms are worse than their parents, 
there is no way out, flowers as big as heads, 
pock-marked, disfigured, blinking insolently 
at me, the me who so loves to garden 
because it prevents the heaving of the ground 
and the untimely death of porch furniture, 
and dark, murky days in a large city 
and the dream home under a permanent storm 
is also a factor to keep in mind."

 Jim just loves to garden, yes he does. 
He likes nothing better than to put on 
his little overalls and his straw hat. 
He says, "Let's go get those tools, Jim." 
But then doubt begins to set in.
He says, "What is a garden, anyway?"
And thoughts about a "modernistic" garden
begin to trouble him, eat away at his resolve. 
He stands in the driveway a long time. 
"Horticulture is a groping in the dark 
into the obscure and unfamiliar, 
kneeling before a disinterested secret, 
slapping it, punching it like a Chinese puzzle,
birdbrained babbling gibberish, dig and
destroy, pull out and apply salt, 
hoe and spray, before it spreads, burn roots, 
where not desired, with gloved hands, poisonous, 
the self-sacrifice of it, the self-love, 
into the interior, thunderclap, excruciating, 
through the nose, the earsplitting necrology 
of it, the withering, shrivelling, 
the handy hose holder and Persian insect powder 
and smut fungi, the enemies of the iris, 
wireworms are worse than their parents, 
there is no way out, flowers as big as heads, 
pock-marked, disfigured, blinking insolently 
at me, the me who so loves to garden 
because it prevents the heaving of the ground 
and the untimely death of porch furniture, 
and dark, murky days in a large city 
and the dream home under a permanent storm 
is also a factor to keep in mind."

 We're away! and the wind whistles shrewd 
In our whiskers and teeth; 
And the granite-like grey of the road 
Seems to slide underneath. 
As an eagle might sweep through the sky, 
So we sweep through the land; 
And the pallid pedestrians fly 
When they hear us at hand. 
We outpace, we outlast, we outstrip! 
Not the fast-fleeing hare, 
Nor the racehorses under the whip, 
Nor the birds of the air 
Can compete with our swiftness sublime, 
Our ease and our grace. 
We annihilate chickens and time 
And policemen and space. 

Do you mind that fat grocer who crossed? 
How he dropped down to pray 
In the road when he saw he was lost; 
How he melted away 
Underneath, and there rang through the fog 
His earsplitting squeal 
As he went -- Is that he or a dog, 
That stuff on the wheel?