Famous Con Poems by Famous Poets
These are examples of famous Con poems written by some of the greatest and most-well-known modern and classical poets. PoetrySoup is a great educational poetry resource of famous con poems. These examples illustrate what a famous con poem looks like and its form, scheme, or style (where appropriate).
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by
Emily Dickinson
In Ebon Box, when years have flown
To reverently peer,
Wiping away the velvet dust
Summers have sprinkled there!
To hold a letter to the light --
Grown Tawny now, with time --
To con the faded syllables
That quickened us like Wine!
Perhaps a Flower's shrivelled check
Among its stores to find --
Plucked far away, some morning --
By gallant -- mouldering hand!
A curl, perhaps, from foreheads
Our Constancy...Read more of this...
by
Marge Piercy
That afternoon the dream of the toads
rang through the elms by Little River
and affected the thoughts of men,
though they were not conscious that
they heard it.--Henry Thoreau
The dream of toads: we rarely
credit what we consider lesser
life with emotions big as ours,
but we are easily distracted,
abstracted. People sit nibbling
before television's flicker watching...Read more of this...
by
Federico García Lorca
Noche de cuatro lunas
y un solo ?rbol,
con una sola sombra
y un solo p?jaro.
Busco en mi carne las
huellas de tus labios.
El manantial besa al viento
sin tocarlo.
Llevo el No que me diste,
en la palma de la mano,
como un lim?n de cera
casi blanco.
Noche de cuatro lunas
y un solo ?rbol,
En la punta de una aguja,
est? mi amor ?girando!...Read more of this...
by
John Berryman
Henry Hankovitch, con guÃtar,
did a short Zen pray,
on his tatami in a relaxed lotos
fixin his mind on nuffin, rose-blue breasts,
and gave his parnel one French kiss;
enslaving himself he withdrew from his blue
Florentine leather case an Egyptian black
& flickt a zippo.
Henry & Phoebe happy as cockroaches
in the world-kitchen woofed, with all away.
The International flame, like despair, rose
or like the foolish...Read more of this...
by
Rudyard Kipling
And reports the derelict Mary Pollock still at sea.
SHIPPING NEWS.
I was the staunchest of our fleet
Till the sea rose beneath our feet
Unheralded, in hatred past all measure.
Into his pits he stamped my crew,
Buffeted, blinded, bound and threw,
Bidding me eyeless wait upon his pleasure.
Man made me, and my will
Is to my maker still,
Whom...Read more of this...
by
Francesco Petrarch
[Pg 25] SONNET XXI. Amor piangeva, ed io con lui talvolta. HE CONGRATULATES BOCCACCIO ON HIS RETURN TO THE RIGHT PATH. Love grieved, and I with him at times, to seeBy what strange practices and cunning art,You still continued from his fetters free,From whom my feet were never far...Read more of this...
by
Emily Dickinson
When I count the seeds
That are sown beneath,
To bloom so, bye and bye --
When I con the people
Lain so low,
To be received as high --
When I believe the garden
Mortal shall not see --
Pick by faith its blossom
And avoid its Bee,
I can spare this summer, unreluctantly....Read more of this...
by
Federico García Lorca
1
Alta va la luna.
Bajo corre el viento.
(Mis largas miradas,
exploran el cielo.)
Luna sobre el agua,
Luna bajo el viento.
(Mis cortas miradas,
exploran el suelo.)
Las voces de dos ni?as
ven?an. Sin el esfuerzo,
de la luna del agua,
me fu? a la del cielo.
2
Un brazo de la noche
entra por mi ventana.
Un gran brazo moreno
con pulseras de agua.
Sobre...Read more of this...
by
Edgar Allan Poe
"Seldom we find," says Solomon Don Dunce,
"Half an idea in the profoundest sonnet.
Through all the flimsy things we see at once
As easily as through a Naples bonnet-
Trash of all trash!- how can a lady don it?
Yet heavier far than your Petrarchan stuff-
Owl-downy nonsense that the faintest puff
Twirls into trunk-paper the while you...Read more of this...
by
Francesco Petrarch
SONNET CXCII. Amor con la man destra il lato manco. UNDER THE FIGURE OF A LAUREL, HE RELATES THE GROWTH OF HIS LOVE. My poor heart op'ning with his puissant hand,Love planted there, as in its home, to dwellA Laurel, green and bright, whose hues might wellIn rivalry with proudest emeralds stand:Read more of this...
by
Francesco Petrarch
SONNET CXV. Quando 'l voler, che con duo sproni ardenti. HER LOOKS BOTH COMFORT AND CHECK HIM. When, with two ardent spurs and a hard rein,Passion, my daily life who rules and leads,From time to time the usual law exceedsThat calm, at least in part, my spirits may gain,It findeth her...Read more of this...
by
Joyce Kilmer
1814-1914
When, on a novel's newly printed page
We find a maudlin eulogy of sin,
And read of ways that harlots wander in,
And of sick souls that writhe in helpless rage;
Or when Romance, bespectacled and sage,
Taps on her desk and bids the class begin
To con the problems that have always been
Perplexed mankind's unhappy heritage;
Then in what robes of honor habited
The laureled wizard...Read more of this...
by
Francesco Petrarch
SONNET LVI. Amor con sue promesse lusingando. LOVE CHAINS ARE STILL DEAR TO HIM. By promise fair and artful flatteryMe Love contrived in prison old to snare,And gave the keys to her my foe in care,Who in self-exile dooms me still to lie.Alas! his wiles I knew not until IWas...Read more of this...
by
William Butler Yeats
The light of evening, Lissadell,
Great windows open to the south,
Two girls in silk kimonos, both
Beautiful, one a gazelle.
But a raving autumn shears
Blossom from the summer's wreath;
The older is condemned to death,
Pardoned, drags out lonely years
Conspiring among the ignorant.
I know not what the younger dreams -
Some vague Utopia - and she seems,
When withered old and skeleton-gaunt,
An image of such politics.
Many...Read more of this...
by
Eugene Field
The women-folk are like to books,--
Most pleasing to the eye,
Whereon if anybody looks
He feels disposed to buy.
I hear that many are for sale,--
Those that record no dates,
And such editions as regale
The view with colored plates.
Of every quality and grade
And size they may be found,--
Quite often beautifully made,
As often poorly bound.
Now, as for me, had I my choice,
I'd choose no...Read more of this...
by
Thomas Hardy
Con the dead page as 'twere live love: press on!
Cold wisdom's words will ease thy track for thee;
Aye, go; cast off sweet ways, and leave me wan
To biting blasts that are intent on me.
But if thy object Fame's far summits be,
Whose inclines many a skeleton o'erlies
That missed both dream and substance, stop and...Read more of this...
by
Aleister Crowley
For Margot
Snow that fallest from heaven, bear me aloft on thy wings
To the domes of the star-girdled Seven, the abode of
ineffable things,
Quintessence of joy and of strength, that, abolishing
future and past,
Mak'st the Present an infinite length, my soul all-One
with the Vast,
The Lone, the Unnameable God, that is ice of His
measureless cold,
Without being or form or abode, without motion or
matter,...Read more of this...
by
Robert Francis
Lingo of birds was easier than lingo of peasants-
they were elusive, though, the birds, for excellent reasons.
He thought of Virgil, Virgil who wasn't there to chat with.
History he never forgave for letting Latin
lapse into Italian, a renegade jabbering
musical enough but not enough to call music
So he conversed with stones, imperial and papal.
Even the preposterous popes he could condone
a moment...Read more of this...
by
Thomas Hardy
WILLIAM Dewy, Tranter Reuben, Farmer Ledlow late at plough,
Robert's kin, and John's, and Ned's,
And the Squire, and Lady Susan, lie in Mellstock churchyard now!
"Gone," I call them, gone for good, that group of local hearts and
heads;
Yet at mothy curfew-tide,
And at midnight when the noon-heat breathes it back from walls and
leads,
They've a way of whispering to me--fellow-wight who yet abide--
In...Read more of this...
by
Delmira Agustini
Spanish Su idilio fue una larga sonrisa a cuatro labios…En el regazo cálido de rubia primaveraAmáronse talmente que entre sus dedos sabiosPalpitó la divina forma de la Quimera. En los palacios fúlgidos de las tardes en calmaHablábanse un lenguaje sentido como un lloro,Y se besaban hondo hasta morderse el alma!…Las horas deshojáronse como flores de oro, Y el Destino interpuso sus dos manos...Read more of this...
by
Francesco Petrarch
SONNET LXXI. Piangete, donne, e con voi pianga Amore. ON THE DEATH OF CINO DA PISTOIA. Weep, beauteous damsels, and let Cupid weep,Of every region weep, ye lover train;He, who so skilfully attuned his strainTo your fond cause, is sunk in death's cold sleep!Such limits let not my affliction keep,As...Read more of this...
by
Lewis Carroll
Why is it that Poetry has never yet been subjected to that process of Dilution which has proved so advantageous to her sister-art Music? The Diluter gives us first a few notes of some well-known Air, then a dozen bars of his own, then a few more notes of the Air, and so on alternately: thus saving the listener,...Read more of this...
by
Dylan Thomas
I sit here on the 2nd floor
hunched over in yellow
pajamas
still pretending to be
a writer.
some damned gall,
at 71,
my brain cells eaten
away by
life.
rows of books
behind me,
I scratch my thinning
hair
and search for the
word.
for decades now
I have infuriated the
ladies,
the critics,
the university
suck-toads.
they all will soon have
their time to
celebrate.
"terribly overrated..."
"gross..."
"an aberration..."
my hands sink into the
keyboard
of my
Macintosh,
it's the same old
con
that...Read more of this...
by
Sylvia Plath
'Perspective betrays with its dichotomy:
train tracks always meet, not here, but only
in the impossible mind's eye;
horizons beat a retreat as we embark
on sophist seas to overtake that mark
where wave pretends to drench real sky.'
'Well then, if we agree, it is not odd
that one man's devil is another's god
or that the solar spectrum is
a multitude of...Read more of this...
by
Francesco Petrarch
SONNET LXXXIII. Volo con l' ali de' pensieri al cielo. HE SEEMS TO BE WITH HER IN HEAVEN. So often on the wings of thought I flyUp to heaven's blissful seats, that I appearAs one of those whose treasure is lodged there,The rent veil of mortality thrown by.A pleasing chillness thrills...Read more of this...
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