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 Alfred Lord Tennyson
15 William Butler Yeats
16 Rudyard Kipling
17 Tupac Shakur
18 Edward Estlin (E E) Cummings
19 Charles Bukowski
20 Sarojini Naidu
21 Muhammad Ali
22 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
23 Billy Collins
24 Christina Rossetti
25 Sandra Cisneros
26 Alice Walker
27 Carol Ann Duffy
28 Edgar Allan Poe
29 John Donne
30 Ogden Nash
31 Ralph Waldo Emerson
32 Raymond Carver
33 Nikki Giovanni
34 John Keats
35 Lewis Carroll
36 Thomas Hardy
37 Mark Twain
38 Spike Milligan
39 Carl Sandburg
40 Anne Sexton
41 Thunchaththu Ramanujan Ezhuthachan
42 Percy Bysshe Shelley
43 Alexander Pushkin
44 Henry David Thoreau
45 Elizabeth Barrett Browning
46 Roger McGough
47 Victor Hugo
48 Sara Teasdale
49 George (Lord) Byron
50 Wendell Berry

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Famous Short Mirror Poems

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

Other Short Poem Pages


Poems are below...


Mirror | Short Famous Poems and Poets

 
by Sylvia Plath

Words

Axes 
After whose stroke the wood rings, 
And the echoes! 
Echoes traveling 
Off from the center like horses.
The sap Wells like tears, like the Water striving To re-establish its mirror Over the rock That drops and turns, A white skull, Eaten by weedy greens.
Years later I Encounter them on the road--- Words dry and riderless, The indefatigable hoof-taps.
While From the bottom of the pool, fixed stars Govern a life.


by Paul Celan

Landscape

 tall poplars -- human beings of this earth!
black pounds of happiness -- you mirror them to death!

I saw you, sister, stand in that effulgence.


by Billy Jno Hope

Half Steps

 folly cracked the mirror
a soul gasping wound
voodoo induced vertigo
psychedelic blackouts
in the cracks
between art and blasphemy
paralyzing paranoia of becoming
the vision that heals
cast shadows to douse the flames
starved enlightenment
i betrayed my muse
i wallowed in nostalgic fumes
blood clots from yesteryears insurrection mad dissident desire found wanting a rage dissipating in the twilight of friendship a facade evolved.


by Spike Milligan

Mirror Mirror

 A young spring-tender girl
combed her joyous hair
'You are very ugly' said the mirror.
But, on her lips hung a smile of dove-secret loveliness, for only that morning had not the blind boy said, 'You are beautiful'?


by Jane Kenyon

Notes from the Other Side

 I divested myself of despair
and fear when I came here.
Now there is no more catching one's own eye in the mirror, there are no bad books, no plastic, no insurance premiums, and of course no illness.
Contrition does not exist, nor gnashing of teeth.
No one howls as the first clod of earth hits the casket.
The poor we no longer have with us.
Our calm hearts strike only the hour, and God, as promised, proves to be mercy clothed in light.


by Elizabeth Bishop

Sonnet (1979)

 Caught -- the bubble
in the spirit level,
a creature divided;
and the compass needle
wobbling and wavering,
undecided.
Freed -- the broken thermometer's mercury running away; and the rainbow-bird from the narrow bevel of the empty mirror, flying wherever it feels like, gay!


by Adrian Green

Mirror

 There are no lies 
in the morning
no cheating of age

an illusion of eye
smoothing skin over bone.
No portrait hidden away becoming skeletal and demanding release.
Another day to face, my confessor, so laugh at this charting of years.


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 Richard Brautigan

My Nose Is Growing Old

 Yup.
A long lazy September look in the mirror say it's true.
I'm 31 and my nose is growing old.
It starts about 1/2 an inch below the bridge and strolls geriatrically down for another inch or so: stopping.
Fortunately, the rest of the nose is comparatively young.
I wonder if girls will want me with an old nose.
I can hear them now the heartless bitches! "He's cute but his nose is old.
"


by Anne Sexton

More Than Myself

 Not that it was beautiful,
but that, in the end, there was
a certain sense of order there;
something worth learning
in that narrow diary of my mind,
in the commonplaces of the asylum
where the cracked mirror
or my own selfish death
outstared me .
.
.
I tapped my own head; it was glass, an inverted bowl.
It's small thing to rage inside your own bowl.
At first it was private.
Then it was more than myself.


by Robert Creeley

The Mirror

 Seeing is believing.
Whatever was thought or said, these persistent, inexorable deaths make faith as such absent, our humanness a question, a disgust for what we are.
Whatever the hope, here it is lost.
Because we coveted our difference, here is the cost.


by Remy de Gourmont

Litanies of the Rose

Rose with dark eyes, 
mirror of your nothingness, 
rose with dark eyes, 
make us believe in the mystery, 
hypocrite flower,
flower of silence.
Rose the colour of pure gold, oh safe deposit of the ideal, rose the colour of pure gold, give us the key of your womb, hypocrite flower, flower of silence.
Rose the colour of silver, censer of our dreams, rose the colour of silver, take our heart and turn it into smoke, hypocrite flower, flower of silence.


by David Herbert Lawrence

Intimates

 Don't you care for my love? she said bitterly.
I handed her the mirror, and said: Please address these questions to the proper person! Please make all requests to head-quarters! In all matters of emotional importance please approach the supreme authority direct! - So I handed her the mirror.
And she would have broken it over my head, but she caught sight of her own reflection and that held her spellbound for two seconds while I fled.


by Delmore Schwartz

By Circumstances Fed

 By circumstances fed
Which divide attention
Among the living and the dead,
Under the blooms of the blossoming sun,
The gaze which is a tower towers
Day and night, hour by hour,
Critical of all and of one,
Dissatisfied with every flower
With all that's been done or undone,
Converting every feature
Into its own and unknown nature;
So, once in the drugstore,
Amid all the poppy, salve and ointment,
I suddenly saw, estranged there,
Beyond all disappointment,
My own face in the mirror.


by Russell Edson

Antimatter

 On the other side of a mirror there's an inverse world, 
where the insane go sane; where bones climb out of the 
earth and recede to the first slime of love.
And in the evening the sun is just rising.
Lovers cry because they are a day younger, and soon childhood robs them of their pleasure.
In such a world there is much sadness which, of course, is joy.


by Rainer Maria Rilke

Telling You All

 Telling you all would take too long.
Besides, we read in the Bible how the good is harmful and how misfortune is good.
Let's invite something new by unifying our silences; if, then and there, we advance, we'll know it soon enough.
And yet towards evening, when his memory is persistent, one belated curiousity stops him before the mirror.
We don't know if he is frightened.
But he stays, he is engrossed, and, facing his reflection, transports himself somewhere else.


by Denise Levertov

Seeing For A Moment

 I thought I was growing wings—
it was a cocoon.
I thought, now is the time to step into the fire— it was deep water.
Eschatology is a word I learned as a child: the study of Last Things; facing my mirror—no longer young, the news—always of death, the dogs—rising from sleep and clamoring and howling, howling, nevertheless I see for a moment that's not it: it is the First Things.
Word after word floats through the glass.
Towards me.


by Ruth Stone

THE TRADE-OFF

Words make the thoughts.
Severe tyrants, like the scrubbers and guardians of your cells.
They herd your visions down the ramp to nexus waiting with sledge hammer to knock what is the knowing without knowing into knowledge.
Yes, the tight bag of grammar, syntax, the clever sidestep from babble, is a comfortable prison.
A mirror of the mirror.
And all that is uttered in its chains is locked out from the secret.


by Dorothy Parker

Words of Comfort to Be Scratched on a Mirror

 Helen of Troy had a wandering glance;
Sappho's restriction was only the sky;
Ninon was ever the chatter of France;
But oh, what a good girl am I!


by William Carlos (WCW) Williams

Danse Russe

 If when my wife is sleeping
and the baby and Kathleen
are sleeping
and the sun is a flame-white disc
in silken mists
above shining trees,—
if I in my north room
dance naked, grotesquely
before my mirror
waving my shirt round my head
and singing softly to myself:
"I am lonely, lonely,
I was born to be lonely,
I am best so!"
If I admire my arms, my face,
my shoulders, flanks, buttocks
against the yellow drawn shades,—

Who shall say I am not
the happy genius of my household?


by James Joyce

Dear Heart Why Will You Use Me So?

 Dear heart, why will you use me so? 
Dear eyes that gently me upbraid, 
Still are you beautiful -- - but O, 
How is your beauty raimented! 

Through the clear mirror of your eyes, 
Through the soft sigh of kiss to kiss, 
Desolate winds assail with cries 
The shadowy garden where love is.
And soon shall love dissolved be When over us the wild winds blow -- - But you, dear love, too dear to me, Alas! why will you use me so?


by Vasko Popa

Far Within Us #2

 Look here's that uninvited
Alien presence look it's here

A shudder on the ocean of tea in the cup
Rust taking hold
On the edges of our laughter
A snake coiled in the depths of the mirror

Will I be able to hide you
From your face in mine

Look it's the third shadow
On our imagined walk
Unexpected abyss
Between our words
Hoofs clattering
Below the vaults of our palates

Will I be able
On this unrest-field
To raise you a tent of my hands


by Rainer Maria Rilke

Palm

 Interior of the hand.
Sole that has come to walk only on feelings.
That faces upward and in its mirror receives heavenly roads, which travel along themselves.
That has learned to walk upon water when it scoops, that walks upon wells, transfiguring every path.
That steps into other hands, changes those that are like it into a landscape: wanders and arrives within them, fills them with arrival.


by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

PROVERBS

 'TIS easier far a wreath to bind,
Than a good owner fort to find.
I KILL'D a thousand flies overnight, Yet was waken'd by one, as soon as twas light.
To the mother I give; For the daughter I live.
A BREACH is every day, By many a mortal storm'd; Let them fall in the gaps as they may, Yet a heap of dead is ne'er form'd.
WHAT harm has thy poor mirror done, alas? Look not so ugly, prythee, in the glass! 1815.
*


by Walt Whitman

This Day O Soul

 THIS day, O Soul, I give you a wondrous mirror; 
Long in the dark, in tarnish and cloud it lay—But the cloud has pass’d, and the
 tarnish gone; 
.
.
.
Behold, O Soul! it is now a clean and bright mirror, Faithfully showing you all the things of the world.