Famous Pock Poems by Famous Poets
These are examples of famous Pock poems written by some of the greatest and most-well-known modern and classical poets. PoetrySoup is a great educational poetry resource of famous pock poems. These examples illustrate what a famous pock poem looks like and its form, scheme, or style (where appropriate).
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...or by his conscience,
That he could saw hemp-seed a peck;
For it was a’ but nonsense:
The auld guidman raught down the pock,
An’ out a handfu’ gied him;
Syne bad him slip frae’ mang the folk,
Sometime when nae ane see’d him,
An’ try’t that night.
He marches thro’ amang the stacks,
Tho’ he was something sturtin;
The graip he for a harrow taks,
An’ haurls at his curpin:
And ev’ry now an’ then, he says,
“Hemp-seed I saw thee,
An’ her that is to be my lass
Come after me...Read more of this...
by
Burns, Robert
...shed by both the sea and the sun!
I spit on the fact
that neither Homer nor Ovid
invented characters like us,
pock-marked with soot.
I know
the sun would dim, on seeing
the gold fields of our souls!
Sinews and muscles are surer than prayers.
Must we implore the charity of the times!
We ¨C
each one of us ¨C
hold in our fists
the driving belts of the worlds!
This led to my Golgothas in the halls
of Petrograd, Moscow, Odessa, and Kiev,
where...Read more of this...
by
Mayakovsky, Vladimir
...with his fingers, picks up pebbles around
tiny heads of sorrel. Clouds bruise in, clog the sky,
the first fat drops pock-mark the dust.
The man wipes his hands on his chest,
opens the sack, pulls out top halves
of broken bottles, and plants them, firmly,
over each head of sorrel — tilting the necks
toward the rain. His back is drenched, so am I,
his careful gestures clench my throat,
wrench a hunger out of me I don't understand,
can't turn away from. The las...Read more of this...
by
Bosselaar, Laure-Anne
...fect passages. But earth remains untranslated,
unplumbed. A million herring run where we
catch here a freckle, there a pock; the depths to which things live
words only glint at. Terns in flight work up
what fond minds might
call syntax. As for that
semantic antic in the distance, is it
whiskered fish, finned cat? Don't settle
just for two. Some bottomographies are
brooded over, and some skies swum through. . ....Read more of this...
by
McHugh, Heather
...
Damn your Louvre, your Paris.
I'll write these entries
on the back of my canvas.
And so
when I picked a pen from the pocket
of a nearsighted American
sticking his red nose into my skirts
--his hair stinking of wine--
I started my memoirs.
I'm writing on my back
the sorrow of having a famous smile...
18 March: Night
The Louvre has fallen asleep.
In the dark, the armless Venus
looks like a veteran of the Great War.
The gold helmet of a knight gleams
as the light fro...Read more of this...
by
Hikmet, Nazim
...spit at his name
when spitting on the ground:
They will be found one day Prone where they fell, or dead sitting
—and pock-marked wall
Supporting the beautiful back straight as an oak
before it is old.
I have learned to fail. And I have had my say.
Yet shall I sing until my voice crack
(this being my leisure, this my holiday)
That man was a special thing, and no commodity,
a thing improper to be sold....Read more of this...
by
St. Vincent Millay, Edna
...my mouth, calling, "Oh."
I am empty. I am witless.
Death is here. There is no
other settlement. Snow!
See the mark, the pock, the pock!
Meanwhile you pour tea
with your handsome gentle hands.
Then you deliberately take your
forefinger and point it at my temple,
saying, "You suicide *****!
I'd like to take a corkscrew
and screw out all your brains
and you'd never be back ever."
And I close my eyes over the steaming
tea and see God opening His teeth.
"Oh." He says.
I see the c...Read more of this...
by
Sexton, Anne
...ungi, the enemies of the iris,
wireworms are worse than their parents,
there is no way out, flowers as big as heads,
pock-marked, disfigured, blinking insolently
at me, the me who so loves to garden
because it prevents the heaving of the ground
and the untimely death of porch furniture,
and dark, murky days in a large city
and the dream home under a permanent storm
is also a factor to keep in mind."...Read more of this...
by
Tate, James
...ungi, the enemies of the iris,
wireworms are worse than their parents,
there is no way out, flowers as big as heads,
pock-marked, disfigured, blinking insolently
at me, the me who so loves to garden
because it prevents the heaving of the ground
and the untimely death of porch furniture,
and dark, murky days in a large city
and the dream home under a permanent storm
is also a factor to keep in mind."...Read more of this...
by
Taylor, Edward
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