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Best Famous Observer Poems

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

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Written by Allen Ginsberg | Create an image from this poem

Cosmopolitan Greetings

 To Struga Festival Golden Wreath Laureates
 & International Bards 1986

Stand up against governments, against God.
Stay irresponsible.
Say only what we know & imagine.
Absolutes are coercion.
Change is absolute.
Ordinary mind includes eternal perceptions.
Observe what's vivid.
Notice what you notice.
Catch yourself thinking.
Vividness is self-selecting.
If we don't show anyone, we're free to write anything.
Remember the future.
Advise only yourself.
Don't drink yourself to death.
Two molecules clanking against each other requires an observer to become scientific data.
The measuring instrument determines the appearance of the phenomenal world after Einstein.
The universe is subjective.
Walt Whitman celebrated Person.
We Are an observer, measuring instrument, eye, subject, Person.
Universe is person.
Inside skull vast as outside skull.
Mind is outer space.
"Each on his bed spoke to himself alone, making no sound.
" First thought, best thought.
Mind is shapely, Art is shapely.
Maximum information, minimum number of syllables.
Syntax condensed, sound is solid.
Intense fragments of spoken idiom, best.
Consonants around vowels make sense.
Savor vowels, appreciate consonants.
Subject is known by what she sees.
Others can measure their vision by what we see.
Candor ends paranoia.
Kral Majales June 25, 1986 Boulder, Colorado

Written by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe | Create an image from this poem


 THOU art confused, my beloved, at, seeing the thousandfold 

Shown in this flowery troop, over the garden dispers'd;
any a name dost thou hear assign'd; one after another

Falls on thy list'ning ear, with a barbarian sound.
None resembleth another, yet all their forms have a likeness; Therefore, a mystical law is by the chorus proclaim'd; Yes, a sacred enigma! Oh, dearest friend, could I only Happily teach thee the word, which may the mystery solve! Closely observe how the plant, by little and little progressing, Step by step guided on, changeth to blossom and fruit! First from the seed it unravels itself, as soon as the silent Fruit-bearing womb of the earth kindly allows Its escape, And to the charms of the light, the holy, the ever-in-motion, Trusteth the delicate leaves, feebly beginning to shoot.
Simply slumber'd the force in the seed; a germ of the future, Peacefully lock'd in itself, 'neath the integument lay, Leaf and root, and bud, still void of colour, and shapeless; Thus doth the kernel, while dry, cover that motionless life.
Upward then strives it to swell, in gentle moisture confiding, And, from the night where it dwelt, straightway ascendeth to light.
Yet still simple remaineth its figure, when first it appeareth; And 'tis a token like this, points out the child 'mid the plants.
Soon a shoot, succeeding it, riseth on high, and reneweth, Piling-up node upon node, ever the primitive form; Yet not ever alike: for the following leaf, as thou seest, Ever produceth itself, fashioned in manifold ways.
Longer, more indented, in points and in parts more divided, Which.
all-deform'd until now, slept in the organ below, So at length it attaineth the noble and destined perfection, Which, in full many a tribe, fills thee with wondering awe.
Many ribb'd and tooth'd, on a surface juicy and swelling, Free and unending the shoot seemeth in fullness to be; Yet here Nature restraineth, with powerful hands, the formation, And to a perfecter end, guideth with softness its growth, Less abundantly yielding the sap, contracting the vessels, So that the figure ere long gentler effects doth disclose.
Soon and in silence is check'd the growth of the vigorous branches, And the rib of the stalk fuller becometh in form.
Leafless, however, and quick the tenderer stem then up-springeth, And a miraculous sight doth the observer enchant.
Ranged in a circle, in numbers that now are small, and now countless, Gather the smaller-sized leaves, close by the side of their like.
Round the axis compress'd the sheltering calyx unfoldeth, And, as the perfectest type, brilliant-hued coronals forms.
Thus doth Nature bloom, in glory still nobler and fuller, Showing, in order arranged, member on member uprear'd.
Wonderment fresh dost thou feel, as soon as the stem rears the flower Over the scaffolding frail of the alternating leaves.
But this glory is only the new creation's foreteller, Yes, the leaf with its hues feeleth the hand all divine, And on a sudden contracteth itself; the tenderest figures Twofold as yet, hasten on, destined to blend into one.
Lovingly now the beauteous pairs are standing together, Gather'd in countless array, there where the altar is raised.
Hymen hovereth o'er them, and scents delicious and mighty Stream forth their fragrance so sweet, all things enliv'ning around.
Presently, parcell'd out, unnumber'd germs are seen swelling, Sweetly conceald in the womb, where is made perfect the fruit.
Here doth Nature close the ring of her forces eternal; Yet doth a new one, at once, cling to the one gone before, So that the chain be prolonged for ever through all generations, And that the whole may have life, e'en as enjoy'd by each part.
Now, my beloved one, turn thy gaze on the many-hued thousands Which, confusing no more, gladden the mind as they wave.
Every plant unto thee proclaimeth the laws everlasting, Every flowered speaks louder and louder to thee; But if thou here canst decipher the mystic words of the goddess, Everywhere will they be seen, e'en though the features are changed.
Creeping insects may linger, the eager butterfly hasten,-- Plastic and forming, may man change e'en the figure decreed! Oh, then, bethink thee, as well, how out of the germ of acquaintance, Kindly intercourse sprang, slowly unfolding its leaves; Soon how friendship with might unveil'd itself in our bosoms, And how Amor, at length, brought forth blossom and fruit Think of the manifold ways wherein Nature hath lent to our feelings, Silently giving them birth, either the first or the last! Yes, and rejoice in the present day! For love that is holy Seeketh the noblest of fruits,--that where the thoughts are the same, Where the opinions agree,--that the pair may, in rapt contemplation, Lovingly blend into one,--find the more excellent world.
Written by Walt Whitman | Create an image from this poem


 I MET a Seer, 
Passing the hues and objects of the world, 
The fields of art and learning, pleasure, sense, To glean Eidólons.
Put in thy chants, said he, No more the puzzling hour, nor day—nor segments, parts, put in, Put first before the rest, as light for all, and entrance-song of all, That of Eidólons.
Ever the dim beginning; Ever the growth, the rounding of the circle; Ever the summit, and the merge at last, (to surely start again,) Eidólons! Eidólons! Ever the mutable! Ever materials, changing, crumbling, re-cohering; Ever the ateliers, the factories divine, Issuing Eidólons! Lo! I or you! Or woman, man, or State, known or unknown, We seeming solid wealth, strength, beauty build, But really build Eidólons.
The ostent evanescent; The substance of an artist’s mood, or savan’s studies long, Or warrior’s, martyr’s, hero’s toils, To fashion his Eidólon.
Of every human life, (The units gather’d, posted—not a thought, emotion, deed, left out;) The whole, or large or small, summ’d, added up, In its Eidólon.
The old, old urge; Based on the ancient pinnacles, lo! newer, higher pinnacles; From Science and the Modern still impell’d, The old, old urge, Eidólons.
The present, now and here, America’s busy, teeming, intricate whirl, Of aggregate and segregate, for only thence releasing, To-day’s Eidólons.
These, with the past, Of vanish’d lands—of all the reigns of kings across the sea, Old conquerors, old campaigns, old sailors’ voyages, Joining Eidólons.
Densities, growth, façades, Strata of mountains, soils, rocks, giant trees, Far-born, far-dying, living long, to leave, Eidólons everlasting.
Exaltè, rapt, extatic, The visible but their womb of birth, Of orbic tendencies to shape, and shape, and shape, The mighty Earth-Eidólon.
All space, all time, (The stars, the terrible perturbations of the suns, Swelling, collapsing, ending—serving their longer, shorter use,) Fill’d with Eidólons only.
The noiseless myriads! The infinite oceans where the rivers empty! The separate, countless free identities, like eyesight; The true realities, Eidólons.
Not this the World, Nor these the Universes—they the Universes, Purport and end—ever the permanent life of life, Eidólons, Eidólons.
Beyond thy lectures, learn’d professor, Beyond thy telescope or spectroscope, observer keen—beyond all mathematics, Beyond the doctor’s surgery, anatomy—beyond the chemist with his chemistry, The entities of entities, Eidólons.
Unfix’d, yet fix’d; Ever shall be—ever have been, and are, Sweeping the present to the infinite future, Eidólons, Eidólons, Eidólons.
The prophet and the bard, Shall yet maintain themselves—in higher stages yet, Shall mediate to the Modern, to Democracy—interpret yet to them, God, and Eidólons.
And thee, My Soul! Joys, ceaseless exercises, exaltations! Thy yearning amply fed at last, prepared to meet, Thy mates, Eidólons.
Thy Body permanent, The Body lurking there within thy Body, The only purport of the Form thou art—the real I myself, An image, an Eidólon.
Thy very songs, not in thy songs; No special strains to sing—none for itself; But from the whole resulting, rising at last and floating, A round, full-orb’d Eidólon.
Written by Victor Hugo | Create an image from this poem


 ("Si j'étais la feuille.") 
 {XXII., September, 1828.} 

 Oh! were I the leaf that the wind of the West, 
 His course through the forest uncaring; 
 To sleep on the gale or the wave's placid breast 
 In a pendulous cradle is bearing. 
 All fresh with the morn's balmy kiss would I haste, 
 As the dewdrops upon me were glancing; 
 When Aurora sets out on the roseate waste, 
 And round her the breezes are dancing. 
 On the pinions of air I would fly, I would rush 
 Thro' the glens and the valleys to quiver; 
 Past the mountain ravine, past the grove's dreamy hush, 
 And the murmuring fall of the river. 
 By the darkening hollow and bramble-bush lane, 
 To catch the sweet breath of the roses; 
 Past the land would I speed, where the sand-driven plain 
 'Neath the heat of the noonday reposes. 
 Past the rocks that uprear their tall forms to the sky, 
 Whence the storm-fiend his anger is pouring; 
 Past lakes that lie dead, tho' the tempest roll nigh, 
 And the turbulent whirlwind be roaring. 
 On, on would I fly, till a charm stopped my way, 
 A charm that would lead to the bower; 
 Where the daughter of Araby sings to the day, 
 At the dawn and the vesper hour. 
 Then hovering down on her brow would I light, 
 'Midst her golden tresses entwining; 
 That gleam like the corn when the fields are bright, 
 And the sunbeams upon it shining. 
 A single frail gem on her beautiful head, 
 I should sit in the golden glory; 
 And prouder I'd be than the diadem spread 
 Round the brow of kings famous in story. 
 V., Eton Observer. 


Written by Weldon Kees | Create an image from this poem


 Butcher the evil millionaire, peasant,
And leave him stinking in the square.
Torture the chancellor.
Leave the ambassador Strung by his thumbs from the pleasant Embassy wall, where the vines were.
Then drill your hogs and sons for another war.
Fire on the screaming crowd, ambassador, Sick chancellor, brave millionaire, And name them by the name that is your name.
Give privilege to the wound, and maim The last resister.
Poison the air And mew for peace, for order, and for war.
View with alarm, participant, observer, Buried in medals from the time before.
Whisper, then believe and serve and die And drape fresh bunting on the hemisphere From here to India.
This is the world you buy When the wind blows fresh for war.
Hide in the dark alone, objector; Ask a grenade what you are living for, Or drink this knowledge from the mud.
To an abyss more terrible than war Descend and tunnel toward a barrier Away from anything that moves with blood.

Written by Friedrich von Schiller | Create an image from this poem

The Observer

 Stern as my conscience, thou seest the points wherein I'm deficient;
Therefore I've always loved thee, as my own conscience I've loved.