Famous Films Poems by Famous Poets

These are examples of famous Films poems written by some of the greatest and most-well-known modern and classical poets. PoetrySoup is a great educational poetry resource of famous films poems. These examples illustrate what a famous films poem looks like and its form, scheme, or style (where appropriate).

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Banish Air from Air --

by Emily Dickinson
 Banish Air from Air --
Divide Light if you dare --
They'll meet
While Cubes in a Drop
Or Pellets of Shape
Fit
Films cannot annul
Odors return whole
Force Flame
And with a Blonde push
Over your impotence
Flits Steam....Read more of this...

Films

by Carl Sandburg
 I HAVE kept all, not one is thrown away, not one given to the ragman, not one thrust in a corner with a “P-f-f.”
The red ones and the blue, the long ones in stripes, and each of the little black and white checkered ones.
Keep them: I tell my heart: keep them another year, another ten years: they will be...Read more of this...

It would never be Common -- more -- I said

by Emily Dickinson
 It would never be Common -- more -- I said --
Difference -- had begun --
Many a bitterness -- had been --
But that old sort -- was done --

Or -- if it sometime -- showed -- as 'twill --
Upon the Downiest -- Morn --
Such bliss -- had I -- for all the years --
'Twould give an Easier -- pain --

I'd...Read more of this...

Poor Cinderella

by Kenn Nesbitt
Poor Cinderella, whose stepmom was mean,
could never see films rated PG-13.
She hadn’t a cell phone and no DVD,
no notebook computer or pocket TV.
She wasn’t allowed to play video games.
The tags on her clothes had unfashionable names.
Her shoes were not trendy enough to be cool.
No limousine chauffeur would drive her to school.
Her house had no drawing room; only a den.
Her bedtime,...Read more of this...

The War Films

by Sir Henry Newbolt
 O living pictures of the dead, 
O songs without a sound, 
O fellowship whose phantom tread 
Hallows a phantom ground -- 
How in a gleam have these revealed 
The faith we had not found. 

We have sought God in a cloudy Heaven, 
We have passed by God on earth: 
His seven sins and his sorrows seven, 
His wayworn mood...Read more of this...

Dream Song 53: He lay in the middle of the world and twicht

by John Berryman
 He lay in the middle of the world, and twicht.
More Sparine for Pelides,
human (half) & down here as he is,
with probably insulting mail to open
and certainly unworthy words to hear
and his unforgiving memory.

-”I seldom go to films. They are too exciting,
said the Honourable Possum.
-”It takes me so long to read the 'paper,
said to me one day a novelist hot...Read more of this...

The Bee

by Sidney Lanier
 What time I paced, at pleasant morn,
A deep and dewy wood,
I heard a mellow hunting-horn
Make dim report of Dian's lustihood
Far down a heavenly hollow.
Mine ear, though fain, had pain to follow:
`Tara!' it twanged, `tara-tara!' it blew,
Yet wavered oft, and flew
Most ficklewise about, or here, or there,
A music now from earth and now from air.
But on a sudden, lo!
I marked...Read more of this...

Standardization

by Alec Derwent (A D) Hope
 When, darkly brooding on this Modern Age, 
The journalist with his marketable woes 
Fills up once more the inevitable page 
Of fatuous, flatulent, Sunday-paper prose; 

Whenever the green aesthete starts to whoop 
With horror at the house not made with hands 
And when from vacuum cleaners and tinned soup 
Another pure theosophist demands 

Rebirth in other, less industrial stars...Read more of this...

Art Above Nature: To Julia

by Robert Herrick
 When I behold a forest spread
With silken trees upon thy head;
And when I see that other dress
Of flowers set in comeliness;
When I behold another grace
In the ascent of curious lace,
Which, like a pinnacle, doth shew
The top, and the top-gallant too;
Then, when I see thy tresses bound
Into an oval, square, or round,
And knit in knots far more than I.
Can tell...Read more of this...

Then Was My Neophyte

by Dylan Thomas
 Then was my neophyte,
Child in white blood bent on its knees
Under the bell of rocks,
Ducked in the twelve, disciple seas
The winder of the water-clocks
Calls a green day and night.
My sea hermaphrodite,
Snail of man in His ship of fires
That burn the bitten decks,
Knew all His horrible desires
The climber of the water sex
Calls the green rock of light.

Who in these labyrinths,
This...Read more of this...

When the Fishing Boats Go Out

by Lucy Maud Montgomery
 When the lucent skies of morning flush with dawning rose once more,
And waves of golden glory break adown the sunrise shore,
And o'er the arch of heaven pied films of vapor float.
There's joyance and there's freedom when the fishing boats go out. 

The wind is blowing freshly up from far, uncharted caves,
And sending sparkling kisses o'er the brows of virgin...Read more of this...

In Harm's Way

by Barry Tebb
 I was never a film buff, give me Widmark and Wayne any day

Saturday matin?es with Margaret Gardener still hold sway

As my memory veers backwards this temperate Boxing Day-

Westerns and war films and a blurred Maigret,

Coupled with a worn-out sixties Penguin Mallarm?-

How about that mix for a character trait?

Try as I may I can’t get my head round the manifold...Read more of this...

Dream Song 7: The Prisoner of Shark Island with Paul Muni

by John Berryman
 Henry is old, old; for Henry remembers
Mr Deeds' tuba, & the Cameo,
& the race in Ben Hur,-”The Lost World, with sound,
& The Man from Blankey's, which he did not dig,
nor did he understand one caption of,
bewildered Henry, while the Big Ones laughed.

Now Henry is unmistakably a Big One.
Fúnnee; he don't féel so.
He just stuck around.
The German & the Russian...Read more of this...

Mae Marsh Motion Picture Actress

by Vachel Lindsay
 I

The arts are old, old as the stones
From which man carved the sphinx austere.
Deep are the days the old arts bring:
Ten thousand years of yesteryear.


II

She is madonna in an art
As wild and young as her sweet eyes:
A frail dew flower from this hot lamp
That is today's divine surprise.

Despite raw lights and gloating mobs
She is not seared: a picture still:
Rare...Read more of this...

Where?

by Helen Hunt Jackson
 My snowy eupatorium has dropped 
Its silver threads of petals in the night; 
No signal told its blossoming had stopped; 
Its seed-films flutter silent, ghostly white: 
No answer stirs the shining air, 
As I ask, "Where?" 

Beneath the glossy leaves of winter-green 
Dead lilly-bells lie low, and in their place 
A rounded disk of pearly pink is seen, 
Which...Read more of this...

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