Best Famous Refute Poems
Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Refute poems. This is a select list of the best famous Refute poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Refute poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of refute poems.
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Written by
Majeed Amjad |
Where is she … ?!
That girl who stood on these ramparts years ago
Statuesque … iconic …besieged by the world
A deity … worshiped by the early glow of my dreams !
Where is she now ?
That crazy-headed rebellious Truth
With the restless, quivering eye lashes
Who came to refute the sham of this world.
Under these ramparts,
My breath is still patched and mended
By the soft breeze of her existence
Which once did battle against eternal stony walls
But I wonder where she rests now
That crazy-headed rebellious Truth ?
This is how young, unfolding lives
With their tinkling laughter
Are lost forever in a dark enduring slumber
What manner of sleep is this
Whose sea-waves slowly crumble and erode
All islands of the heart ?
What kind of dreams are these
That swim within this sleep
Floating back … returning again and again… forever in this deep slumber ?
Dreams ... whose childhood glow never fades away !!
(Translated by Talat Afroze from the original Urdu text of the poem: Moortee);
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Written by
A S J Tessimond |
This trumpeter of nothingness, employed
To keep our reason dull and null and void.
This man of wind and froth and flux will sell
The wares of any who reward him well.
Praising whatever he is paid to praise,
He hunts for ever-newer, smarter ways
To make the gilt seen gold; the shoddy, silk;
To cheat us legally; to bluff and bilk
By methods which no jury can prevent
Because the law's not broken, only bent.
This mind for hire, this mental prostitute
Can tell the half-lie hardest to refute;
Knows how to hide an inconvenient fact
And when to leave a doubtful claim unbacked;
Manipulates the truth but not too much,
And if his patter needs the Human Touch,
Skillfully artless, artlessly naive,
Wears his convenient heart upon his sleeve.
He uses words that once were strong and fine,
Primal as sun and moon and bread and wine,
True, honourable, honoured, clear and keen,
And leaves them shabby, worn, diminished, mean.
He takes ideas and trains them to engage
In the long little wars big combines wage...
He keeps his logic loose, his feelings flimsy;
Turns eloquence to cant and wit to whimsy;
Trims language till it fits his clients, pattern
And style's a glossy tart or limping slattern.
He studies our defences, finds the cracks
And where the wall is weak or worn, attacks.
lie finds the fear that's deep, the wound that's tender,
And mastered, outmanouevered, we surrender.
We who have tried to choose accept his choice
And tired succumb to his untiring voice.
The dripping tap makes even granite soften
We trust the brand-name we have heard so often
And join the queue of sheep that flock to buy;
We fools who know our folly, you and I.
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Written by
Robert Graves |
Truth-loving Persians do not dwell upon
The trivial skirmish fought near Marathon.
As for the Greek theatrical tradition
Which represents that summer's expedition
Not as a mere reconnaisance in force
By three brigades of foot and one of horse
(Their left flank covered by some obsolete
Light craft detached from the main Persian fleet)
But as a grandiose, ill-starred attempt
To conquer Greece - they treat it with contempt;
And only incidentally refute
Major Greek claims, by stressing what repute
The Persian monarch and the Persian nation
Won by this salutary demonstration:
Despite a strong defence and adverse weather
All arms combined magnificently together.
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Written by
Victor Hugo |
("Laissons le glaive à Rome.")
{Bk. III. xvi., October, 1852.}
Pray Rome put up her poniard!
And Sparta sheathe the sword;
Be none too prompt to punish,
And cast indignant word!
Bear back your spectral Brutus
From robber Bonaparte;
Time rarely will refute us
Who doom the hateful heart.
Ye shall be o'ercontented,
My banished mates from home,
But be no rashness vented
Ere time for joy shall come.
No crime can outspeed Justice,
Who, resting, seems delayed—
Full faith accord the angel
Who points the patient blade.
The traitor still may nestle
In balmy bed of state,
But mark the Warder, watching
His guardsman at his gate.
He wears the crown, a monarch—
Of knaves and stony hearts;
But though they're blessed by Senates,
None can escape the darts!
Though shored by spear and crozier,
All know the arrant cheat,
And shun the square of pavement
Uncertain at his feet!
Yea, spare the wretch, each brooding
And secret-leaguers' chief,
And make no pistol-target
Of stars upon the thief.
The knell of God strikes seldom
But in the aptest hour;
And when the life is sweetest,
The worm will feel His power!
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