Best Famous Wastefully Poems
Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Wastefully poems. This is a select list of the best famous Wastefully poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Wastefully poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of wastefully poems.
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Written by
Adrienne Rich |
The pact that we made was the ordinary pact
of men & women in those days
I don't know who we thought we were
that our personalities
could resist the failures of the race
Lucky or unlucky, we didn't know
the race had failures of that order
and that we were going to share them
Like everybody else, we thought of ourselves as special
Your body is as vivid to me
as it ever was: even more
since my feeling for it is clearer:
I know what it could and could not do
it is no longer
the body of a god
or anything with power over my life
Next year it would have been 20 years
and you are wastefully dead
who might have made the leap
we talked, too late, of making
which I live now
not as a leap
but a succession of brief, amazing movements
each one making possible the next
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Written by
Philip Larkin |
Quarterly, is it, money reproaches me:
'Why do you let me lie here wastefully?
I am all you never had of goods and sex,
You could get them still by writing a few cheques.'
So I look at others, what they do with theirs:
They certainly don't keep it upstairs.
By now they've a second house and car and wife:
Clearly money has something to do with life
- In fact, they've a lot in common, if you enquire:
You can't put off being young until you retire,
And however you bank your screw, the money you save
Won't in the end buy you more than a shave.
I listen to money singing. It's like looking down
From long French windows at a provincial town,
The slums, the canal, the churches ornate and mad
In the evening sun. It is intensely sad.
|
Written by
Joseph Brodsky |
I was but what you'd brush
with your palm what your leaning
brow would hunch to in evening's
raven-black hush.
I was but what your gaze
in that dark could distinguish:
a dim shape to begin with
later - features a face.
It was you on my right
on my left with your heated
sighs who molded my helix
whispering at my side.
It was you by that black
window's trembling tulle pattern
who laid in my raw cavern
a voice calling you back.
I was practically blind.
You appearing then hiding
gave me my sight and heightened
it. Thus some leave behind
a trace. Thus they make worlds.
Thus having done so at random
wastefully they abandon
their work to its whirls.
Thus prey to speeds
of light heat cold or darkness
a sphere in space without markers
spins and spins.
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