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Best Famous Unplugged Poems

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

Search and read the best famous Unplugged poems, articles about Unplugged poems, poetry blogs, or anything else Unplugged poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.

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Written by Billy Collins | Create an image from this poem

Silence

 Now it is time to say what you have to say.
The room is quiet.
The whirring fan has been unplugged,
and the girl who was tapping
a pencil on her desktop has been removed.

So tell us what is on your mind.
We want to hear the sound of your foliage,
the unraveling of your tool kit,
your songs of loneliness,
your songs of hurt.

The trains are motionless on the tracks,
the ships are at restn the harbor.
The dogs are cocking their heads
and the gods are peering down from their balloons.
The town is hushed,

and everyone here has a copy.
So tell us about your parents—
your father behind the steering wheel,
your cruel mother at the sink.
Let's hear about all the clouds you saw, all the trees.

Read the poem you brought with you tonight.
The ocean has stopped sloshing around,
and even Beethoven
is sitting up in his deathbed,
his cold hearing horn inserted in one ear.


Written by Steve Kowit | Create an image from this poem

Some Clouds

 Now that I've unplugged the phone,
no one can reach me--
At least for this one afternoon
they will have to get by without my advice
or opinion.
Now nobody else is going to call
& ask in a tentative voice
if I haven't yet heard that she's dead,
that woman I once loved--
nothing but ashes scattered over a city
that barely itself any longer exists.
Yes, thank you, I've heard.
It had been too lovely a morning.
That in itself should have warned me.
The sun lit up the tangerines
& the blazing poinsettias
like so many candles.
For one afternoon they will have to forgive me.
I am busy watching things happen again
that happened a long time ago.
as I lean back in Josephine's lawnchair
under a sky of incredible blue,
broken--if that is the word for it-- 
by a few billowing clouds,
all white & unspeakably lovely,
drifting out of one nothingness into another.

Book: Reflection on the Important Things