Short Poetry by Popular Famous Poets

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

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Famous Short London Poems

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

Other Short Poem Pages


Poems are below...


London | Short Famous Poems and Poets

 
by Spike Milligan

Porridge

 Why is there no monument
To Porridge in our land?
It it's good enough to eat,
It's good enough to stand!

On a plinth in London
A statue we should see
Of Porridge made in Scotland
Signed, "Oatmeal, O.
B.
E.
" (By a young dog of three)


by Victor Hugo

THE BEGGAR'S QUATRAIN

 ("Aveugle comme Homère.") 
 
 {Improvised at the Café de Paris.} 


 Blind, as was Homer; as Belisarius, blind, 
 But one weak child to guide his vision dim. 
 The hand which dealt him bread, in pity kind— 
 He'll never see; God sees it, though, for him. 
 
 H.L.C., "London Society." 


 





by Patrick Kavanagh

Memory Of My Father

 Every old man I see
Reminds me of my father
When he had fallen in love with death
One time when sheaves were gathered.
That man I saw in Gardner Street Stumbled on the kerb was one, He stared at me half-eyed, I might have been his son.
And I remember the musician Faltering over his fiddle In Bayswater, London, He too set me the riddle.
Every old man I see In October-coloured weather Seems to say to me: "I was once your father.
"


by Thomas Hardy

At the War Office London

 I 

Last year I called this world of gain-givings 
The darkest thinkable, and questioned sadly 
If my own land could heave its pulse less gladly, 
So charged it seemed with circumstance whence springs 
 The tragedy of things.
II Yet at that censured time no heart was rent Or feature blanched of parent, wife, or daughter By hourly blazoned sheets of listed slaughter; Death waited Nature's wont; Peace smiled unshent From Ind to Occident.


by Amy Levy

Out of Town

 Out of town the sky was bright and blue,
Never fog-cloud, lowering, thick, was seen to frown;
Nature dons a garb of gayer hue,
Out of town.
Spotless lay the snow on field and down, Pure and keen the air above it blew; All wore peace and beauty for a crown.
London sky, marred by smoke, veiled from view, London snow, trodden thin, dingy brown, Whence that strange unrest at thoughts of you Out of town?


by Mother Goose

Pussy-Cat And Queen


"Pussy-cat, pussy-cat,
    Where have you been?"
"I've been to London
    To look at the Queen.
"
"Pussy-cat, pussy-cat,
    What did you there?"
"I frightened a little mouse
    Under the chair.
"


by Mother Goose

The Merchants Of London


Hey diddle dinkety poppety pet,
The merchants of London they wear scarlet,
Silk in the collar and gold in the hem,
So merrily march the merchant men.


by Hilaire Belloc

The Telephone

 To-night in million-voiced London I 
Was lonely as the million-pointed sky 
Until your single voice.
Ah! So the sun Peoples all heaven, although he be but one.


by A E Housman

Far In a Western Brookland

 Far in a western brookland 
That bred me long ago 
The poplars stand and tremble 
By pools I used to know.
There, in the windless night-time, The wanderer, marvelling why, Halts on the bridge to hearken How soft the poplars sigh.
He hears: no more remembered In fields where I was known, Here I lie down in London And turn to rest alone.
There, by the starlit fences, The wanderer halts and hears My soul that lingers sighing About the glimmering weirs.


by Ezra Pound

Song in the Manner of Housman

 O woe, woe, 
People are born and die, 
We also shall be dead pretty soon 
Therefore let us act as if we were 
dead already.
The bird sits on the hawthorn tree But he dies also, presently.
Some lads get hung, and some get shot.
Woeful is this human lot.
Woe! woe, etcetera .
.
.
.
London is a woeful place, Shropshire is much pleasanter.
Then let us smile a little space Upon fond nature's morbid grace.
Oh, Woe, woe, woe, etcetera .
.
.


by Carl Sandburg

Jack London and O. Henry

 BOTH were jailbirds; no speechmakers at all; speaking best with one foot on a brass rail; a beer glass in the left hand and the right hand employed for gestures.
And both were lights snuffed out … no warning … no lingering: Who knew the hearts of these boozefighters?


by David Lehman

The Lift

 The wonderful thing
about being with
you in this hotel
lift in London full
of people is that none
of them knows what you
and I are about to do
in bed or possibly
on the floor in fact not
even you realize yet
how much you're going
to enjoy this act for
which we have no name
not clinical or hideous, just
a double digit number, perfect
as a skater's figure eight


by Amy Levy

Straw in the Street

 Straw in the street where I pass to-day
Dulls the sound of the wheels and feet.
'Tis for a failing life they lay Straw in the street.
Here, where the pulses of London beat, Someone strives with the Presence grey; Ah, is it victory or defeat? The hurrying people go their way, Pause and jostle and pass and greet; For life, for death, are they treading, say Straw in the street?