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 Rudyard Kipling
14 Sylvia Plath
15 Alfred Lord Tennyson
16 William Butler Yeats
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 Ogden Nash
28 Carol Ann Duffy
29 John Donne
30 Edgar Allan Poe
31 Ralph Waldo Emerson
32 Raymond Carver
33 Nikki Giovanni
34 John Keats
35 Lewis Carroll
36 Spike Milligan
37 Thunchaththu Ramanujan Ezhuthachan
38 Thomas Hardy
39 Mark Twain
40 Carl Sandburg
41 Percy Bysshe Shelley
42 Anne Sexton
43 Alexander Pushkin
44 Roger McGough
45 Henry David Thoreau
46 Wendell Berry
47 Sara Teasdale
48 Victor Hugo
49 Elizabeth Barrett Browning
50 George (Lord) Byron

Famous Short Memory Poems

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

Other Short Poem Pages


Poems are below...


Memory | Short Famous Poems and Poets

 
by Maya Angelou

The Lesson

I keep on dying again.
Veins collapse, opening like the Small fists of sleeping Children.
Memory of old tombs, Rotting flesh and worms do Not convince me against The challenge.
The years And cold defeat live deep in Lines along my face.
They dull my eyes, yet I keep on dying, Because I love to live.


by Louise Gluck

First Memory

 Long ago, I was wounded.
I lived to revenge myself against my father, not for what he was-- for what I was: from the beginning of time, in childhood, I thought that pain meant I was not loved.
It meant I loved.


by Suheir Hammad

the missing

 the way loss seeps
into neck hollows
and curls at temples
sits between front teeth
cavity
empty and waiting
for mourning to open
the way mourning stays
forever shadowing vision
shaping lives with memory
a drawer won't close
sleep elusive
smile illusive
the only real is grief
forever counting the days
minutes missing without knowing
so that one day 
you find yourself 
showering tears
missing that love
like sugar 
aches teeth


by Emily Dickinson

A Cloud withdrew from the Sky

 A Cloud withdrew from the Sky
Superior Glory be
But that Cloud and its Auxiliaries
Are forever lost to me

Had I but further scanned
Had I secured the Glow
In an Hermetic Memory
It had availed me now.
Never to pass the Angel With a glance and a Bow Till I am firm in Heaven Is my intention now.


by Dejan Stojanovic

Ghazal of Love

I love the new sounds of love; 
Only the new cures an old love.
Watching the love making of waves and the shore I desire to be the wave of love.
There is no real hate in quarrels, Only stupidity and lack of love.
The Sun shone upon me And I shone upon the world with love.
I fly through memory To find a newborn love.
Sing to me sea, sing to me sky And the hiding world sprang out from love.


by Christina Rossetti

Song (She Sat And Sang Alway)

 She sat and sang alway
By the green margin of a stream,
Watching the fishes leap and play
Beneath the glad sunbeam.
I sat and wept alway Beneath the moon's most shadowy beam, Watching the blossoms of the May Weep leaves into the stream.
I wept for memory; She sang for hope that is so fair: My tears were swallowed by the sea; Her songs died on the air.


by Edward Estlin (E E) Cummings

up into the silence the green

up into the silence the green
silence with a white earth in it

you will(kiss me)go

out into the morning the young
morning with a warm world in it

(kiss me)you will go

on into the sunlight the fine
sunlight with a firm day in it

you will go(kiss me

down into your memory and
a memory and memory

i)kiss me,(will go)


by Sarah Fuller Flower Adams

Part In Peace: Is Day Before Us?

Part in peace: is day before us?
Praise His Name for life and light;
Are the shadows lengthening o’er us?
Bless His care Who guards the night.
Part in peace: with deep thanksgiving, Rendering, as we homeward tread, Gracious service to the living, Tranquil memory to the dead.
Part in peace: such are the praises God our Maker loveth best; Such the worship that upraises Human hearts to heavenly rest.


by Thomas Hardy

How Great My Grief (Triolet)

 How great my grief, my joys how few, 
Since first it was my fate to know thee! 
- Have the slow years not brought to view 
How great my grief, my joys how few, 
Nor memory shaped old times anew, 
 Nor loving-kindness helped to show thee 
How great my grief, my joys how few, 
 Since first it was my fate to know thee?


by Percy Bysshe Shelley

Music when soft voices die

MUSIC when soft voices die  
Vibrates in the memory; 
Odours when sweet violets sicken  
Live within the sense they quicken; 

Rose leaves when the rose is dead 5 
Are heap'd for the belov¨¨d's bed: 
And so thy thoughts when thou art gone  
Love itself shall slumber on.


by Edgar Allan Poe

To One Departed

 Seraph! thy memory is to me
Like some enchanted far-off isle
In some tumultuous sea -
Some ocean vexed as it may be
With storms; but where, meanwhile,
Serenest skies continually
Just o'er that one bright island smile.
For 'mid the earnest cares and woes That crowd around my earthly path, (Sad path, alas, where grows Not even one lonely rose!) My soul at least a solace hath In dreams of thee; and therein knows An Eden of bland repose.


by William Stafford

Just Thinking

 Got up on a cool morning.
Leaned out a window.
No cloud, no wind.
Air that flowers held for awhile.
Some dove somewhere.
Been on probation most of my life.
And the rest of my life been condemned.
So these moments count for a lot--peace, you know.
Let the bucket of memory down into the well, bring it up.
Cool, cool minutes.
No one stirring, no plans.
Just being there.
This is what the whole thing is about.


by Bob Kaufman

O-Jazz-O

 Where the string
At
some point,
Was umbilical jazz,
Or perhaps,
In memory,
A long lost bloody cross,
Buried in some steel cavalry.
In what time For whom do we bleed, Lost notes, from some jazzman's Broken needle.
Musical tears from lost Eyes.
Broken drumsticks, why? Pitter patter, boom dropping Bombs in the middle Of my emotions My father's sound My mother's sound, Is love, Is life.


by Dorothy Parker

Afternoon

 When I am old, and comforted,
And done with this desire,
With Memory to share my bed
And Peace to share my fire,

I'll comb my hair in scalloped bands
Beneath my laundered cap,
And watch my cool and fragile hands
Lie light upon my lap.
And I will have a sprigged gown With lace to kiss my throat; I'll draw my curtain to the town, And hum a purring note.
And I'll forget the way of tears, And rock, and stir my tea.
But oh, I wish those blessed years Were further than they be!


by Emily Dickinson

That sacred Closet when you sweep --

 That sacred Closet when you sweep --
Entitled "Memory" --
Select a reverential Broom --
And do it silently.
'Twill be a Labor of surprise -- Besides Identity Of other Interlocutors A probability -- August the Dust of that Domain -- Unchallenged -- let it lie -- You cannot supersede itself But it can silence you --


by Vachel Lindsay

Ghosts in Love

 "Tell me, where do ghosts in love 
Find their bridal veils?" 

"If you and I were ghosts in love 
We'd climb the cliffs of Mystery, 
Above the sea of Wails.
I'd trim your gray and streaming hair With veils of Fantasy From the tree of Memory.
'Tis there the ghosts that fall in love Find their bridal veils.
"


by James Joyce

A Memory of the Players in a Mirror at Midnight

 They mouth love's language.
Gnash The thirteen teeth Your lean jaws grin with.
Lash Your itch and quailing, nude greed of the flesh.
Love's breath in you is stale, worded or sung, As sour as cat's breath, Harsh of tongue.
This grey that stares Lies not, stark skin and bone.
Leave greasy lips their kissing.
None Will choose her what you see to mouth upon.
Dire hunger holds his hour.
Pluck forth your heart, saltblood, a fruit of tears.
Pluck and devour!


by Walter de la Mare

When the Rose is Faded

 When the rose is faded, 
Memory may still dwell on 
Her beauty shadowed, 
And the sweet smell gone.
That vanishing loveliness, That burdening breath, No bond of life hath then, Nor grief of death.
'Tis the immortal thought Whose passion still Makes the changing The unchangeable.
Oh, thus thy beauty, Loveliest on earth to me, Dark with no sorrow, shines And burns, with thee.


by Paul Verlaine

Autumn Song

With long sobs
the violin-throbs
of autumn wound
my heart with languorous
and montonous
sound.
Choking and pale When i mind the tale the hours keep, my memory strays down other days and I weep; and I let me go where ill winds blow now here, now there, harried and sped, even as a dead leaf, anywhere.


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 William Allingham

A Memory

 Four ducks on a pond,
A grass-bank beyond, 
A blue sky of spring, 
White clouds on the wing; 
What a little thing 
To remember for years- 
To remember with tears!


by Emily Dickinson

When Memory is full

 When Memory is full
Put on the perfect Lid --
This Morning's finest syllable
Presumptuous Evening said --


by Anna Akhmatova

Memory Of Sun

 Memory of sun seeps from the heart.
Grass grows yellower.
Faintly if at all the early snowflakes Hover, hover.
Water becoming ice is slowing in The narrow channels.
Nothing at all will happen here again, Will ever happen.
Against the sky the willow spreads a fan The silk's torn off.
Maybe it's better I did not become Your wife.
Memory of sun seeps from the heart.
What is it? -- Dark? Perhaps! Winter will have occupied us In the night.


by Anna Akhmatova

The Sentence

 And the stone word fell
On my still-living breast.
Never mind, I was ready.
I will manage somehow.
Today I have so much to do: I must kill memory once and for all, I must turn my soul to stone, I must learn to live again-- Unless .
.
.
Summer's ardent rustling Is like a festival outside my window.
For a long time I've foreseen this Brilliant day, deserted house.


by Yehuda Amichai

My Father

 The memory of my father is wrapped up in
white paper, like sandwiches taken for a day at work.
Just as a magician takes towers and rabbits out of his hat, he drew love from his small body, and the rivers of his hands overflowed with good deeds.