Short Poetry by Popular Famous Poets

 Poet
1 William Wordsworth
2 William Shakespeare
3 Oscar Wilde
4 Emily Dickinson
5 Maya Angelou
6 Rabindranath Tagore
7 Robert Frost
8 Langston Hughes
9 Walt Whitman
10 Shel Silverstein
11 William Blake
12 Sylvia Plath
13 Pablo Neruda
14 Alfred Lord Tennyson
15 William Butler Yeats
16 Rudyard Kipling
17 Tupac Shakur
18 Edward Estlin (E E) Cummings
19 Charles Bukowski
20 Muhammad Ali
21 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
22 Sarojini Naidu
23 Sandra Cisneros
24 Alice Walker
25 Billy Collins
26 Christina Rossetti
27 Carol Ann Duffy
28 Edgar Allan Poe
29 John Donne
30 Ralph Waldo Emerson
31 Nikki Giovanni
32 Raymond Carver
33 John Keats
34 Ogden Nash
35 Lewis Carroll
36 Thomas Hardy
37 Mark Twain
38 Spike Milligan
39 Carl Sandburg
40 Anne Sexton
41 Percy Bysshe Shelley
42 Alexander Pushkin
43 Thunchaththu Ramanujan Ezhuthachan
44 Henry David Thoreau
45 Elizabeth Barrett Browning
46 Roger McGough
47 Sara Teasdale
48 Victor Hugo
49 George (Lord) Byron
50 Gary Soto

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Famous Short Color Poems

Famous Short Color Poems. Short Color Poetry by Famous Poets. A collection of the all-time best Color short poems

Other Short Poem Pages


Poems are below...


Color | Short Famous Poems and Poets

 
by Emily Dickinson

Heaven is what I cannot reach!

Heaven is what I cannot reach!
   The apple on the tree,
Provided it do hopeless hang,
   That "heaven" is, to me.
The color on the cruising cloud, The interdicted ground Behind the hill, the house behind, -- There Paradise is found!


by Richard Brautigan

Color As Beginning

 Forget love 
I want to die 
in your yellow hair


by Robert Frost

Blue-Butterfly Day

 It is blue-butterfly day here in spring,
And with these sky-flakes down in flurry on flurry
There is more unmixed color on the wing
Than flowers will show for days unless they hurry.
But these are flowers that fly and all but sing: And now from having ridden out desire They lie closed over in the wind and cling Where wheels have freshly sliced the April mire.


by Matsuo Basho

Winter solitude

 Winter solitude--
in a world of one color
 the sound of wind.


by Sylvia Plath

Child

 Your clear eye is the one absolutely beautiful thing.
I want to fill it with color and ducks, The zoo of the new Whose name you meditate -- April snowdrop, Indian pipe, Little Stalk without wrinkle, Pool in which images Should be grand and classical Not this troublous Wringing of hands, this dark Ceiling without a star.


by Robert Frost

Atmosphere

 Inscription for a Garden Wall

Winds blow the open grassy places bleak;
But where this old wall burns a sunny cheek,
They eddy over it too toppling weak
To blow the earth or anything self-clear;
Moisture and color and odor thicken here.
The hours of daylight gather atmosphere.


by Sylvia Plath

Southern Sunrise

 Color of lemon, mango, peach,
These storybook villas
Still dream behind
Shutters, thier balconies
Fine as hand-
Made lace, or a leaf-and-flower pen-sketch.
Tilting with the winds, On arrowy stems, Pineapple-barked, A green crescent of palms Sends up its forked Firework of fronds.
A quartz-clear dawn Inch by bright inch Gilds all our Avenue, And out of the blue drench Of Angels' Bay Rises the round red watermelon sun.


by Emily Dickinson

An ignorance a Sunset

 An ignorance a Sunset
Confer upon the Eye --
Of Territory -- Color --
Circumference -- Decay --

Its Amber Revelation
Exhilirate -- Debase --
Omnipotence' inspection
Of Our inferior face --

And when the solemn features
Confirm -- in Victory --
We start -- as if detected
In Immortality --


by Adrienne Rich

November 1968

 Stripped
you're beginning to float free
up through the smoke of brushfires
and incinerators
the unleafed branches won't hold you
nor the radar aerials

You're what the autumn knew would happen
after the last collapse
of primary color
once the last absolutes were torn to pieces
you could begin

How you broke open, what sheathed you
until this moment
I know nothing about it
my ignorance of you amazes me
now that I watch you
starting to give yourself away
to the wind


by W S Merwin

We continue

For Galway Kinnell


The rust a little pile of western color lies
At the end of its travels 
Our instrument no longer.
Those who believe In death have their worship cut out for them.
As for myself we Continue An old Scar of light our trumpet Pilgrims with thorns To the eye of the cold Under flags made by the blind In one fist Their letter that vanishes If the hand opens: Charity come home Begin.


by Sylvia Plath

Contusion

 Color floods to the spot, dull purple.
The rest of the body is all washed-out, The color of pearl.
In a pit of a rock The sea sucks obsessively, One hollow thw whole sea's pivot.
The size of a fly, The doom mark Crawls down the wall.
The heart shuts, The sea slides back, The mirrors are sheeted.


by Percy Bysshe Shelley

On A Dead Violet

 The odor from the flower is gone
Which like thy kisses breathed on me;
The color from the flower is flown
Which glowed of thee and only thee!

A shrivelled, lifeless, vacant form,
It lies on my abandoned breast;
And mocks the heart, which yet is warm,
With cold and silent rest.
I weep--my tears revive it not; I sigh--it breathes no more on me: Its mute and uncomplaining lot Is such as mine should be.


by Emily Dickinson

Color -- Caste -- Denomination --

 Color -- Caste -- Denomination --
These -- are Time's Affair --
Death's diviner Classifying
Does not know they are --

As in sleep -- All Hue forgotten --
Tenets -- put behind --
Death's large -- Democratic fingers
Rub away the Brand --

If Circassian -- He is careless --
If He put away
Chrysalis of Blonde -- or Umber --
Equal Butterfly --

They emerge from His Obscuring --
What Death -- knows so well --
Our minuter intuitions --
Deem unplausible --


by Federico García Lorca

Ditty of First Desire

 In the green morning
I wanted to be a heart.
A heart.
And in the ripe evening I wanted to be a nightingale.
A nightingale.
(Soul, turn orange-colored.
Soul, turn the color of love.
) In the vivid morning I wanted to be myself.
A heart.
And at the evening's end I wanted to be my voice.
A nightingale.
Soul, turn orange-colored.
Soul, turn the color of love.


by Wanda Phipps

Morning Poem #43

 I close my eyes
and there it is
a concrete walkway
leading out of a
small village
hugging the sides
of a green green
tree filled mountainside
and to the right
a pipe railing
paited the color
of oxidized metaland even firther
to my right
a small beach
costline-an ocean
all under a pale blue sky
all there when my eyelids
close and the shutters open


by Emily Dickinson

Heaven -- is what I cannot reach!

 "Heaven" -- is what I cannot reach!
The Apple on the Tree --
Provided it do hopeless -- hang --
That -- "Heaven" is -- to Me!

The Color, on the Cruising Cloud --
The interdicted Land --
Behind the Hill -- the House behind --
There -- Paradise -- is found!

Her teasing Purples -- Afternoons --
The credulous -- decoy --
Enamored -- of the Conjuror --
That spurned us -- Yesterday!


by Emily Dickinson

Summer begins to have the look

 Summer begins to have the look
Peruser of enchanting Book
Reluctantly but sure perceives
A gain upon the backward leaves --

Autumn begins to be inferred
By millinery of the cloud
Or deeper color in the shawl
That wraps the everlasting hill.
The eye begins its avarice A meditation chastens speech Some Dyer of a distant tree Resumes his gaudy industry.
Conclusion is the course of All At most to be perennial And then elude stability Recalls to immortality.


by Paul Eluard

Lady Love

 She is standing on my eyelids
And her hair is in my hair
She has the color of my eye
She has the body of my hand
In my shade she is engulfed
As a stone against the sky

She will never close her eyes
And she does not let me sleep
And her dreams in the bright day
Make the suns evaporate
And me laugh cry and laugh
Speak when I have nothing to say


by Edward Lear

There was a Young Lady whose eyes

There was a Young Lady whose eyes
Were unique as to color and size;
When she opened them wide, people all turned aside,
And started away in surprise.


by Emily Dickinson

The Color of a Queen is this --

 The Color of a Queen, is this --
The Color of a Sun
At setting -- this and Amber --
Beryl -- and this, at Noon --

And when at night -- Auroran widths
Fling suddenly on men --
'Tis this -- and Witchcraft -- nature keeps
A Rank -- for Iodine --


by Ogura Hyakunin Isshu

Ono no Komachi

Color of the flower
Has already passed away
While on trivial things
Vainly I have set my gaze,
In my journey through the world.


by Richard Brautigan

Nine Things

 It's night
and a numbered beauty
lapses at the wind,
chortles with the 
branches of a tree,

 giggles,

plays shadow dance
with a dead kite,
cajoles affection
from falling leaves,
and knows four 
other things.
One is the color of your hair.


by Emily Dickinson

Dare you see a Soul at the White Heat?

 Dare you see a Soul at the White Heat?
Then crouch within the door --
Red -- is the Fire's common tint --
But when the vivid Ore
Has vanquished Flame's conditions,
It quivers from the Forge
Without a color, but the light
Of unanointed Blaze.
Least Village has its Blacksmith Whose Anvil's even ring Stands symbol for the finer Forge That soundless tugs -- within -- Refining these impatient Ores With Hammer, and with Blaze Until the Designated Light Repudiate the Forge --


by Edward Lear

There was a Young Lady of Dorking

There was a Young Lady of Dorking,
Who bought a large bonnet for walking;
But its color and size so bedazzled her eyes,
That she very soon went back to Dorking.


by Jennifer Reeser

Sapphics For Celebrity

 In my dream, Celebrity, four pianos
scored the room, and you -- on an antique sofa
near two dark-haired innocents -- asked that I play
something immortal.
Dust motes grayed the air, and a sage-green shadow draped the walls in color like sifted powder.
I agreed, but wandered, untold, too many keys to consider.