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Best Famous Objected Poems

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

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Written by Robert William Service | Create an image from this poem

Artist

 He gave a picture exhibition,
Hiring a little empty shop.
Above its window: FREE ADMISSION
Cajoled the passers-by to stop;
Just to admire - no need to purchase,
Although his price might have been low:
But no proud artist ever urges
Potential buyers at his show.

Of course he badly needed money,
But more he needed moral aid.
Some people thought his pictures funny,
Too ultra-modern, I'm afraid.
His painting was experimental,
Which no poor artist can afford-
That is, if he would pay the rental
And guarantee his roof and board.

And so some came and saw and sniggered,
And some a puzzled brow would crease;
And some objected: "Well, I'm jiggered!"
What price Picasso and Matisse?
The artist sensitively quivered,
And stifled many a bitter sigh,
But day by day his hopes were shivered
For no one ever sought to buy.

And then he had a brilliant notion:
Half of his daubs he labeled: SOLD.
And lo! he viewed with ***** emotion
A public keen and far from cold.
Then (strange it is beyond the telling),
He saw the people round him press:
His paintings went - they still are selling...
Well, nothing succeeds like success.


Written by Lewis Carroll | Create an image from this poem

Phantasmagoria CANTO IV ( Hys Nouryture )

 "OH, when I was a little Ghost, 
A merry time had we! 
Each seated on his favourite post, 
We chumped and chawed the buttered toast 
They gave us for our tea." 

"That story is in print!" I cried. 
"Don't say it's not, because 
It's known as well as Bradshaw's Guide!" 
(The Ghost uneasily replied 
He hardly thought it was). 

"It's not in Nursery Rhymes? And yet 
I almost think it is - 
'Three little Ghosteses' were set 
'On posteses,' you know, and ate 
Their 'buttered toasteses.' 

"I have the book; so if you doubt it - " 
I turned to search the shelf. 
"Don't stir!" he cried. "We'll do without it: 
I now remember all about it; 
I wrote the thing myself. 

"It came out in a 'Monthly,' or 
At least my agent said it did: 
Some literary swell, who saw 
It, thought it seemed adapted for 
The Magazine he edited. 

"My father was a Brownie, Sir; 
My mother was a Fairy. 
The notion had occurred to her, 
The children would be happier, 
If they were taught to vary. 

"The notion soon became a craze; 
And, when it once began, she 
Brought us all out in different ways - 
One was a Pixy, two were Fays, 
Another was a Banshee; 

"The Fetch and Kelpie went to school 
And gave a lot of trouble; 
Next came a Poltergeist and Ghoul, 
And then two Trolls (which broke the rule), 
A Goblin, and a Double - 

"(If that's a snuff-box on the shelf," 
He added with a yawn, 
"I'll take a pinch) - next came an Elf, 
And then a Phantom (that's myself), 
And last, a Leprechaun. 

"One day, some Spectres chanced to call, 
Dressed in the usual white: 
I stood and watched them in the hall, 
And couldn't make them out at all, 
They seemed so strange a sight. 

"I wondered what on earth they were, 
That looked all head and sack; 
But Mother told me not to stare, 
And then she twitched me by the hair, 
And punched me in the back. 

"Since then I've often wished that I 
Had been a Spectre born. 
But what's the use?" (He heaved a sigh.) 
"THEY are the ghost-nobility, 
And look on US with scorn. 

"My phantom-life was soon begun: 
When I was barely six, 
I went out with an older one - 
And just at first I thought it fun, 
And learned a lot of tricks. 

"I've haunted dungeons, castles, towers - 
Wherever I was sent: 
I've often sat and howled for hours, 
Drenched to the skin with driving showers, 
Upon a battlement. 

"It's quite old-fashioned now to groan 
When you begin to speak: 
This is the newest thing in tone - " 
And here (it chilled me to the bone) 
He gave an AWFUL squeak. 

"Perhaps," he added, "to YOUR ear 
That sounds an easy thing? 
Try it yourself, my little dear! 
It took ME something like a year, 
With constant practising. 

"And when you've learned to squeak, my man, 
And caught the double sob, 
You're pretty much where you began: 
Just try and gibber if you can! 
That's something LIKE a job! 

"I'VE tried it, and can only say 
I'm sure you couldn't do it, e- 
ven if you practised night and day, 
Unless you have a turn that way, 
And natural ingenuity. 

"Shakspeare I think it is who treats 
Of Ghosts, in days of old, 
Who 'gibbered in the Roman streets,' 
Dressed, if you recollect, in sheets - 
They must have found it cold. 

"I've often spent ten pounds on stuff, 
In dressing as a Double; 
But, though it answers as a puff, 
It never has effect enough 
To make it worth the trouble. 

"Long bills soon quenched the little thirst 
I had for being funny. 
The setting-up is always worst: 
Such heaps of things you want at first, 
One must be made of money! 

"For instance, take a Haunted Tower, 
With skull, cross-bones, and sheet; 
Blue lights to burn (say) two an hour, 
Condensing lens of extra power, 
And set of chains complete: 

"What with the things you have to hire - 
The fitting on the robe - 
And testing all the coloured fire - 
The outfit of itself would tire 
The patience of a Job! 

"And then they're so fastidious, 
The Haunted-House Committee: 
I've often known them make a fuss 
Because a Ghost was French, or Russ, 
Or even from the City! 

"Some dialects are objected to - 
For one, the IRISH brogue is: 
And then, for all you have to do, 
One pound a week they offer you, 
And find yourself in Bogies!
Written by Anne Kingsmill Finch | Create an image from this poem

t of the Fifth Scene in the Second Act of Athalia

 Enter, as in the Temple of Jerusalem,
ATHALIA, MATHAN, ABNER

[Mathan]
WHY, to our Wonder, in this Place is seen, 
Thus discompos'd, and alter'd, Juda's Queen? 
May we demand, what Terrors seize your Breast, 
Or, why your Steps are to this House addrest, 
Where your unguarded Person stands expos'd 
To secret Foes, within its Walls inclos'd? 
Can it be thought that you remit that Hate? 


[Athalia]
No more! but Both observe what I relate: 
Not, that I mean (recalling Times of Blood) 
To make you Judges of the Paths I trod, 
When to the empty'd Throne I boldly rose, 
Treating all Intercepters as my Foes. 
'Twas Heav'ns Decree, that I should thus succeed, 
Whose following Favour justifies the Deed, 
Extending my unlimited Command 
From Sea to Sea o'er the obedient Land: 
Whilst your Jerusalem all Peace enjoys, 
Nor now the' encroaching Philistine destroys, 
Nor wandring Arab his Pavilion spreads, 
Near Jordan's Banks, nor wastes his flow'ry Meads. 
The great Assyrian, Terror of your Kings, 
Who bought his Friendship with their holiest Things, 
Yields that a Sister, of his pow'rful Race, 
Should sway these Realms, and dignify the Place. 
Nor need we add the late insulting Foe, 
The furious Jehu does this Sceptre know, 
And sinks beneath the Load of conscious Fears, 
When in Samaria he my Actions hears. 
Distrest by Foes, which I've against him rais'd, 
He sees me unmolested, fix'd, and pleas'd; 
At least, till now thus glorious was my State; 
But something's threatned from relaxing Fate, 
And the last Night, which should have brought me Rest, 
Has all these great Ideas dispossest. 
A Dream, a Vision, an apparent View 
Of what, methinks, does still my Steps pursue, 
Hangs on my pensive Heart, and bears it down 
More than the weight of an objected Crown, 
My Mother (be the Name with Rev'rence spoke!) 
Ere chearful Day thro' horrid Shades had broke, 
Approach'd my Bed, magnificent her Dress, 
Her Shape, her Air did Jesabel confess: 
Nor seem'd her Face to have refus'd that Art, 
Which, in despight of Age, does Youth impart, 
And which she practis'd, scorning to decay, 
Or to be vanquish'd ev'n in Nature's way. 
Thus all array'd, in such defying Pride 
As when th' injurious Conqu'ror she descry'd, 
And did in height of Pow'r for ill-got Pow'r deride. 
To me she spake, these Accents to me came: 
"Thou worthy Daughter of my soaring Fame, 
"Tho' with a more transcendent Spirit fill'd, 
"Tho' struggling Pow'rs attempt thy Life to shield, 
"The Hebrew's God (Oh, tremble at the sound!) 
"Shall Thee and Them, and all their Rights confound. 
A pitying Groan concludes, no Word of Aid. 
My Arms I thought to throw about the Shade 
Of that lov'd Parent, but my troubled Sight 
No more directed them to aim aright, 
Nor ought presented, but a heap of Bones, 
For which fierce Dogs contended on the Stones, 
With Flakes of mangled Flesh, that quiv'ring still 
Proclaim'd the Freshness of the suffer'd Ill; 
Distain'd with Blood the Pavement, and the Wall, 
Appear'd as in that memorable Fall– 


[Abner]
Oh! just avenging Heaven!– [aside. 

[Mathan]
Sure, Dreams like these are for Prevention given.
Written by Andrew Barton Paterson | Create an image from this poem

Tar and Feathers

 Oh! the circus swooped down 
On the Narrabri town, 
For the Narrabri populace moneyed are; 
And the showman he smiled 
At the folk he beguiled 
To come all the distance from Gunnedah. 
But a juvenile smart, 
Who objected to "part", 
Went in on the nod, and to do it he 
Crawled in through a crack 
In the tent at the back, 
For the boy had no slight ingenuity. 

And says he with a grin, 
"That's the way to get in; 
But I reckon I'd better be quiet or 
They'll spiflicate me," 
And he chuckled, for he 
Had the loan of the circus proprietor. 

But the showman astute 
On that wily galoot 
Soon dropped -- you'll be thinking he leathered him -- 
Not he; with a grim 
Sort of humourous whim, 
He took him and tarred him and feathered him. 

Says he, "You can go 
Round the world with a show, 
And knock every Injun and Arab wry; 
With your name and your trade 
On the posters displayed, 
The feathered what-is-it from Narrabri. 

Next day for his freak 
By a Narrabri Beak, 
He was jawed with a deal of verbosity; 
For his only appeal 
Was "professional zeal" -- 
He wanted another monstrosity. 

Said his Worship, "Begob! 
You are fined forty bob, 
And six shillin's costs to the clurk!" he says. 
And the Narrabri joy, 
Half bird and half boy. 
Has a "down" on himself and on circuses.
Written by Edward Lear | Create an image from this poem

There was an Old Person of Rhodes

There was an Old Person of Rhodes,Who strongly objected to toads;He paid several cousins to catch them by dozens,That futile Old Person of Rhodes. 



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