10 Best Famous Unsocial Poems

Here is a collection of the top 10 all-time best famous Unsocial poems. This is a select list of the best famous Unsocial poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Unsocial poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of unsocial poems.

• All Famous Unsocial Poems

 That day i finished
A small piece
For an obscure magazine
I popped it in the box

And such a starry elation
Came over me
That I got whistled at in the street
For the first time in a long time.

I was dirty and roughly dressed
And had circles under my eyes
And far far from flirtation
But so full of completion
Of a deed duly done
An act of consummation
That the freedom and force it engendered
Shone and spun
Out of my old raincoat.

It must have looked like love
Or a fabulous free holiday
To the young men sauntering
Down Berwick Street.
I still think this is most mysterious
For while I was writing it
It was gritty it felt like self-abuse
Constipation, desperately unsocial.
But done done done
Everything in the world
Flowed back
Like a huge bonus.

 That day i finished
A small piece
For an obscure magazine
I popped it in the box

And such a starry elation
Came over me
That I got whistled at in the street
For the first time in a long time.

I was dirty and roughly dressed
And had circles under my eyes
And far far from flirtation
But so full of completion
Of a deed duly done
An act of consummation
That the freedom and force it engendered
Shone and spun
Out of my old raincoat.

It must have looked like love
Or a fabulous free holiday
To the young men sauntering
Down Berwick Street.
I still think this is most mysterious
For while I was writing it
It was gritty it felt like self-abuse
Constipation, desperately unsocial.
But done done done
Everything in the world
Flowed back
Like a huge bonus.

 I haven't worn my evening dress
 For nearly twenty years;
Oh I'm unsocial, I confess,
 A hermit, it appears.
So much moth-balled it's but away,
 And though wee wifie wails,
Never unto my dimmest day
 I'll don my tails.

How slim and trim I looked in them,
 Though I was sixty old;
And now their sleekness I condemn
 To lie in rigid fold.
I have a portrait of myself
 Proud-printed in the Press,
In garb now doomed to wardrobe shelf,--
 My evening dress.

So let this be my last request,
 That when I come to die,
In tails I may be deftly drest,
 With white waistcoat and tie.
No, not for me a vulgar shroud
 My carcass to caress;--
Oh let me do my coffin proud
 In evening dress!