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Best Famous Economy Poems

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

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Written by Dejan Stojanovic | Create an image from this poem


The most complicated skill 
Is to be simple.
To say more while saying less Is the secret of being simple.
To not say all that can be said Is the secret of discipline and economy.
To leave out beautiful sunsets Is the secret of good taste.
To hide feelings when you are near crying Is the secret of dignity.
To cut and tighten sentences Is the secret of mastery.
To keep the air fresh among words Is the secret of verbal cleanliness.
To write good poems Is the secret of brevity.
To go against the grain Is the secret of bravery.
To risk life to save a smile on a face of a woman or a child Is the secret of chivalry.
To go where no one else has ever gone before Is the secret of heroism.
To expect to be kissed having bad breath Is the secret of a fool.
Words rich in meaning Can be cheap in sound effects.

Written by Walter de la Mare | Create an image from this poem

An Epitaph

 Interr'd beneath this marble stone, 
Lie saunt'ring Jack and idle Joan.
While rolling threescore years and one Did round this globe their courses run; If human things went ill or well; If changing empires rose or fell; The morning passed, the evening came, And found this couple still the same.
They walk'd and eat, good folks: what then? Why then they walk'd and eat again: They soundly slept the night away: They did just nothing all the day: And having buried children four, Would not take pains to try for more.
Nor sister either had, nor brother: They seemed just tallied for each other.
Their moral and economy Most perfectly they made agree: Each virtue kept its proper bound, Nor tresspass'd on the other's ground.
Nor fame, nor censure they regarded: They neither punish'd nor rewarded.
He cared not what the footmen did: Her maids she neither prais'd nor chid: So ev'ry servant took his course; And bad at first, they all grew worse.
Slothful disorder fill'd his stable; And sluttish plenty deck'd her table.
Their beer was strong; their wine was port; Their meal was large; their grace was short.
They gave the poor the remnant-meat Just when it grew not fit to eat.
They paid the church and parish rate; And took, but read not the receipt; For which they claim'd their Sunday's due, Of slumb'ring in an upper pew.
No man's defects sought they to know; So never made themselves a foe.
No man's good deeds did they commend; So never rais'd themselves a friend.
Nor cherish'd they relations poor: That might decrease their present store: Nor barn nor house did they repair: That might oblige their future heir.
They neither added, nor confounded: They neither wanted, nor abounded.
Each Christmas they accompts did clear; And wound their bottom through the year.
Nor tear, nor smile did they employ At news of public grief, or joy.
When bells were rung, and bonfires made, If asked they ne'er denied their aid: Their jug was to the ringers carried, Whoever either died, or married.
Their billet at the fire was found, Whoever was depos'd or crown'd.
Nor good, nor bad, nor fools, nor wise; They would not learn, nor could advise; Without love, hatred, joy, or fear, They led--a kind of--as it were: Nor wish'd nor car'd, nor laugh'd nor cry'd: And so they liv'd; and so they died.
Written by Wendell Berry | Create an image from this poem

The Country Of Marriage

I dream of you walking at night along the streams of the country of my birth, warm blooms and the nightsongs of birds opening around you as you walk.
You are holding in your body the dark seed of my sleep.
This comes after silence.
Was it something I said that bound me to you, some mere promise or, worse, the fear of loneliness and death? A man lost in the woods in the dark, I stood still and said nothing.
And then there rose in me, like the earth's empowering brew rising in root and branch, the words of a dream of you I did not know I had dreamed.
I was a wanderer who feels the solace of his native land under his feet again and moving in his blood.
I went on, blind and faithful.
Where I stepped my track was there to steady me.
It was no abyss that lay before me, but only the level ground.
Sometimes our life reminds me of a forest in which there is a graceful clearing and in that opening a house, an orchard and garden, comfortable shades, and flowers red and yellow in the sun, a pattern made in the light for the light to return to.
The forest is mostly dark, its ways to be made anew day after day, the dark richer than the light and more blessed, provided we stay brave enough to keep on going in.
How many times have I come to you out of my head with joy, if ever a man was, for to approach you I have given up the light and all directions.
I come to you lost, wholly trusting as a man who goes into the forest unarmed.
It is as though I descend slowly earthward out of the air.
I rest in peace in you, when I arrive at last.
Our bond is no little economy based on the exchange of my love and work for yours, so much for so much of an expendable fund.
We don't know what its limits are-- that puts us in the dark.
We are more together than we know, how else could we keep on discovering we are more together than we thought? You are the known way leading always to the unknown, and you are the known place to which the unknown is always leading me back.
More blessed in you than I know, I possess nothing worthy to give you, nothing not belittled by my saying that I possess it.
Even an hour of love is a moral predicament, a blessing a man may be hard up to be worthy of.
He can only accept it, as a plant accepts from all the bounty of the light enough to live, and then accepts the dark, passing unencumbered back to the earth, as I have fallen tine and again from the great strength of my desire, helpless, into your arms.
What I am learning to give you is my death to set you free of me, and me from myself into the dark and the new light.
Like the water of a deep stream, love is always too much.
We did not make it.
Though we drink till we burst we cannot have it all, or want it all.
In its abundance it survives our thirst.
In the evening we come down to the shore to drink our fill, and sleep, while it flows through the regions of the dark.
It does not hold us, except we keep returning to its rich waters thirsty.
We enter, willing to die, into the commonwealth of its joy.
I give you what is unbounded, passing from dark to dark, containing darkness: a night of rain, an early morning.
I give you the life I have let live for the love of you: a clump of orange-blooming weeds beside the road, the young orchard waiting in the snow, our own life that we have planted in the ground, as I have planted mine in you.
I give you my love for all beautiful and honest women that you gather to yourself again and again, and satisfy--and this poem, no more mine than any man's who has loved a woman.
Written by Wendell Berry | Create an image from this poem


 The ewes crowd to the mangers;
Their bellies widen, sag;
Their udders tighten.
Soon The little voices cry In morning cold.
Soon now The garden must be worked, Laid off in rows, the seed Of life to come brought down Into the dark to rest, Abide awhile alone, And rise.
Soon, soon again The cropland must be plowed, For the years promise now Answers the years desire, Its hunger and its hope.
This goes against the time When food is bought, not grown.
O come into the market With cash, and come to rest In this economy Where all we need is money To be well stuffed and free By sufferance of our Lord, The Chairman of the Board.
Because theres thus no need To plant ones ground with seed.
Under the seasons sway, Against the best advice, In time of death and tears, In slow snowfall of years, Defiant and in hope, We keep an older way In light and breath to stay This household on its slope
Written by T S (Thomas Stearns) Eliot | Create an image from this poem

Old Deuteronomy

 Old Deuteronomy's lived a long time;
He's a Cat who has lived many lives in succession.
He was famous in proverb and famous in rhyme A long while before Queen Victoria's accession.
Old Deuteronomy's buried nine wives And more--I am tempted to say, ninety-nine; And his numerous progeny prospers and thrives And the village is proud of him in his decline.
At the sight of that placid and bland physiognomy, When he sits in the sun on the vicarage wall, The Oldest Inhabitant croaks: "Well, of all .
Can it be .
really! .
Ho! hi! Oh, my eye! My mind may be wandering, but I confess I believe it is Old Deuteronomy!" Old Deuteronomy sits in the street, He sits in the High Street on market day; The bullocks may bellow, the sheep they may bleat, But the dogs and the herdsmen will turn them away.
The cars and the lorries run over the kerb, And the villagers put up a notice: ROAD CLOSED-- So that nothing untoward may chance to distrub Deuteronomy's rest when he feels so disposed Or when he's engaged in domestic economy: And the Oldest Inhabitant croaks: "Well, of all .
Can it be .
really! .
Ho! hi! Oh, my eye! My sight's unreliable, but I can guess That the cause of the trouble is Old Deuteronomy!" Old Deuteronomy lies on the floor Of the Fox and French Horn for his afternoon sleep; And when the men say: "There's just time for one more," Then the landlady from her back parlour will peep And say: "New then, out you go, by the back door, For Old Deuteronomy mustn't be woken-- I'll have the police if there's any uproar"-- And out they all shuffle, without a word spoken.
The digestive repose of that feline's gastronomy Must never be broken, whatever befall: And the Oldest Inhabitant croaks: "Well, of all .
Can it be .
really! .
Ho! hi! Oh, my eye! My legs may be tottery, I must go slow And be careful of Old Deuteronomy!" Of the awefull battle of the Pekes and the Pollicles: together with some account of the participation of the Pugs and the Poms, and the intervention of the Great Rumpuscat The Pekes and the Pollicles, everyone knows, Are proud and implacable passionate foes; It is always the same, wherever one goes.
And the Pugs and the Poms, although most people say That they do not like fighting, yet once in a way, They will now and again join in to the fray And they Bark bark bark bark Bark bark BARK BARK Until you can hear them all over the Park.
Now on the occasion of which I shall speak Almost nothing had happened for nearly a week (And that's a long time for a Pol or a Peke).
The big Police Dog was away from his beat-- I don't know the reason, but most people think He'd slipped into the Wellington Arms for a drink-- And no one at all was about on the street When a Peke and a Pollicle happened to meet.
They did not advance, or exactly retreat, But they glared at each other, and scraped their hind feet, And they started to Bark bark bark bark Bark bark BARK BARK Until you can hear them all over the Park.
Now the Peke, although people may say what they please, Is no British Dog, but a Heathen Chinese.
And so all the Pekes, when they heard the uproar, Some came to the window, some came to the door; There were surely a dozen, more likely a score.
And together they started to grumble and wheeze In their huffery-snuffery Heathen Chinese.
But a terrible din is what Pollicles like, For your Pollicle Dog is a dour Yorkshire tyke, And his braw Scottish cousins are snappers and biters, And every dog-jack of them notable fighters; And so they stepped out, with their pipers in order, Playing When the Blue Bonnets Came Over the Border.
Then the Pugs and the Poms held no longer aloof, But some from the balcony, some from the roof, Joined in To the din With a Bark bark bark bark Bark bark BARK BARK Until you can hear them all over the Park.
Now when these bold heroes together assembled, That traffic all stopped, and the Underground trembled, And some of the neighbours were so much afraid That they started to ring up the Fire Brigade.
When suddenly, up from a small basement flat, Why who should stalk out but the GREAT RUMPUSCAT.
His eyes were like fireballs fearfully blazing, He gave a great yawn, and his jaws were amazing; And when he looked out through the bars of the area, You never saw anything fiercer or hairier.
And what with the glare of his eyes and his yawning, The Pekes and the Pollicles quickly took warning.
He looked at the sky and he gave a great leap-- And they every last one of them scattered like sheep.
And when the Police Dog returned to his beat, There wasn't a single one left in the street.

Written by Henry David Thoreau | Create an image from this poem

Within the Circuit of This Plodding Life

 Within the circuit of this plodding life
There enter moments of an azure hue,
Untarnished fair as is the violet
Or anemone, when the spring strews them
By some meandering rivulet, which make
The best philosophy untrue that aims
But to console man for his grievances
I have remembered when the winter came,
High in my chamber in the frosty nights,
When in the still light of the cheerful moon,
On every twig and rail and jutting spout,
The icy spears were adding to their length
Against the arrows of the coming sun,
How in the shimmering noon of summer past
Some unrecorded beam slanted across
The upland pastures where the Johnswort grew;
Or heard, amid the verdure of my mind,
The bee's long smothered hum, on the blue flag
Loitering amidst the mead; or busy rill,
Which now through all its course stands still and dumb
Its own memorial,—purling at its play
Along the slopes, and through the meadows next,
Until its youthful sound was hushed at last
In the staid current of the lowland stream;
Or seen the furrows shine but late upturned,
And where the fieldfare followed in the rear, 
When all the fields around lay bound and hoar
Beneath a thick integument of snow.
So by God's cheap economy made rich To go upon my winter's task again.
Written by Linda Pastan | Create an image from this poem

Emily Dickinson

 We think of hidden in a white dress
among the folded linens and sachets
of well-kept cupboards, or just out of sight
sending jellies and notes with no address
to all the wondering Amherst neighbors.
Eccentric as New England weather the stiff wind of her mind, stinging or gentle, blew two half imagined lovers off.
Yet legend won't explain the sheer sanity of vision, the serious mischief of language, the economy of pain.
Written by Emily Dickinson | Create an image from this poem

Superiority to Fate

 Superiority to Fate
Is difficult to gain
'Tis not conferred of Any
But possible to earn

A pittance at a time
Until to Her surprise
The Soul with strict economy
Subsist till Paradise.
Written by John Berryman | Create an image from this poem

Dream Song 84: Op. posth. no. 7

 Plop, plop.
The lobster toppled in the pot, fulfilling, dislike man, his destiny, glowing fire-red, succulent, and on the whole becoming what man wants.
I crack my final claw singly, wind up the grave, & to bed.
—Sound good, Mr Bones.
I wish I had me some.
(I spose you got a lessen up your slave.
) —O no no no.
Sole I remember; where no lobster swine,— pots hot or cold is none.
With you I grieve lightly, and I have no lesson.
Bodies are relishy, they say.
Here's mine, was.
What ever happened to Political Economy, leaving me here? Is a rare—in my opinion—responsibility.
The military establishments perpetuate themselves forever.
Have a bite, for a sign.
Written by Kenneth Koch | Create an image from this poem

To Various Persons Talked To All At Once

 You have helped hold me together.
I'd like you to be still.
Stop talking or doing anything else for a minute.
For three minutes, maybe five minutes.
Tell me which walk to take over the hill.
Is there a bridge there? Will I want company? Tell me about the old people who built the bridge.
What is "the Japanese economy"? Where did you hide the doctor's bills? How much I admire you! Can you help me to take this off? May I help you to take that off? Are you finished with this item? Who is the car salesman? The canopy we had made for the dog.
I need some endless embracing.
The ocean's not really very far.
Did you come west in this weather? I've been sitting at home with my shoes off.
You're wearing a cross! That bench, look! Under it are some puppies! Could I have just one little shot of Scotch? I suppose I wanted to impress you.
It's snowing.
The Revlon Man has come from across the sea.
This racket is annoying.
We didn't want the baby to come here because of the hawk.
What are you reading? In what style would you like the humidity to explain? I care, but not much.
You can smoke a cigar.
Genuineness isn't a word I'd ever use.
Say, what a short skirt! Do you have a camera? The moon is a shellfish.
I can't talk to most people.
They eat me alive.
Who are you, anyway? I want to look at you all day long, because you are mine.
Might you crave a little visit to the Pizza Hut? Thank you for telling me your sign.
I'm filled with joy by this sun! The turtle is advancing but the lobster stays behind.
Silence has won the game! Well, just damn you and the thermometer! I don't want to ask the doctor.
I didn't know what you meant when you said that to me.
It's getting cold, but I am feeling awfully lazy.
If you want to we can go over there Where there's a little more light.

Book: Shattered Sighs