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 Wife Poems

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

Other Short Poem Pages


Poems are below...


Wife | Short Famous Poems and Poets

 
by Pablo Neruda

Tower Of Light

 O tower of light, sad beauty
that magnified necklaces and statues in the sea,
calcareous eye, insignia of the vast waters, cry
of the mourning petrel, tooth of the sea, wife
of the Oceanian wind, O separate rose
from the long stem of the trampled bush
that the depths, converted into archipelago,
O natural star, green diadem,
alone in your lonesome dynasty,
still unattainable, elusive, desolate
like one drop, like one grape, like the sea.


by Gwendolyn Brooks

The Independent Man

 Now who could take you off to tiny life 
In one room or in two rooms or in three 
And cork you smartly, like the flask of wine 
You are? Not any woman.
Not a wife.
You'd let her twirl you, give her a good glee Showing your leaping ruby to a friend.
Though twirling would be meek.
Since not a cork Could you allow, for being made so free.
A woman would be wise to think it well If once a week you only rang the bell.


by Allen Ginsberg

A Desolation

 Now mind is clear
as a cloudless sky.
Time then to make a home in wilderness.
What have I done but wander with my eyes in the trees? So I will build: wife, family, and seek for neighbors.
Or I perish of lonesomeness or want of food or lightning or the bear (must tame the hart and wear the bear).
And maybe make an image of my wandering, a little image—shrine by the roadside to signify to traveler that I live here in the wilderness awake and at home.


by Oscar Wilde

To My Wife - With A Copy Of My Poems

 I can write no stately proem
As a prelude to my lay;
From a poet to a poem
I would dare to say.
For if of these fallen petals One to you seem fair, Love will waft it till it settles On your hair.
And when wind and winter harden All the loveless land, It will whisper of the garden, You will understand.


by Walt Whitman

Among the Multitude

 AMONG the men and women, the multitude, 
I perceive one picking me out by secret and divine signs, 
Acknowledging none else—not parent, wife, husband, brother, child, any nearer than I
 am; 
Some are baffled—But that one is not—that one knows me.
Ah, lover and perfect equal! I meant that you should discover me so, by my faint indirections; And I, when I meet you, mean to discover you by the like in you.


by Lisa Zaran

Tenderness

 All around me, the sky with its deep shade of dark.
The stars.
The moon with its shrunken soul.
Can I become what I want to become? Neither wife or mother.
I am noone and nobody is my lover.
I am afraid that when I go mad, my father will bow his downy head into his silver wings and weep.
My daughter, O my daughter.
Originally Published in The 2River View, 10.
1, 2005 Copyright © Lisa Zaran, 2005


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 Yehuda Amichai

A Pity We Were Such A Good Invention

 They amputated
Your thighs off my hips.
As far as I'm concerned They are all surgeons.
All of them.
They dismantled us Each from the other.
As far as I'm concerned They are all engineers.
All of them.
A pity.
We were such a good And loving invention.
An aeroplane made from a man and wife.
Wings and everything.
We hovered a little above the earth.
We even flew a little.


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 Thomas Hardy

Wives in the Sere

 I 

Never a careworn wife but shows, 
 If a joy suffuse her, 
Something beautiful to those 
 Patient to peruse her, 
Some one charm the world unknows 
 Precious to a muser, 
Haply what, ere years were foes, 
 Moved her mate to choose her.
II But, be it a hint of rose That an instant hues her, Or some early light or pose Wherewith thought renews her - Seen by him at full, ere woes Practised to abuse her - Sparely comes it, swiftly goes, Time again subdues her.


by Edgar Lee Masters

Chase Henry

 In my life I was the town drunkard; 
When I died the priest denied me burial 
In holy ground.
The which rebounded to my good fortune.
For the Protestants bought this lot, And buried my body here, Close to the grave of the banker Nicholas, And of his wife Priscilla.
Take note, ye prudent and pious souls, Of the cross-currents in life Which bring honor to the dead, who lived in shame.


by Russell Edson

The Toy-Maker

 A toy-maker made a toy wife and a toy child.
He made a toy house and some toy years.
He made a getting-old toy, and he made a dying toy.
The toy-maker made a toy heaven and a toy god.
But, best of all, he liked making toy shit.


by Nazim Hikmet

Today Is Sunday

 Today is Sunday.
For the first time they took me out into the sun today.
And for the first time in my life I was aghast that the sky is so far away and so blue and so vast I stood there without a motion.
Then I sat on the ground with respectful devotion leaning against the white wall.
Who cares about the waves with which I yearn to roll Or about strife or freedom or my wife right now.
The soil, the sun and me.
.
.
I feel joyful and how.


by Stevie Smith

Drugs Made Pauline Vague

 Drugs made Pauline vague.
She sat one day at the breakfast table Fingering in a baffled way The fronds of the maidenhair plant.
Was it the salt you were looking for dear? said Dulcie, exchanging a glance with the Brigadier.
Chuff chuff Pauline what's the matter? Said the Brigadier to his wife Who did not even notice What a handsome couple they made.


by Paul Muldoon

Why Brownlee Left

 Why Brownlee left, and where he went,
Is a mystery even now.
For if a man should have been content It was him; two acres of barley, One of potatoes, four bullocks, A milker, a slated farmhouse.
He was last seen going out to plough On a March morning, bright and early.
By noon Brownlee was famous; They had found all abandoned, with The last rig unbroken, his pair of black Horses, like man and wife, Shifting their weight from foot to Foot, and gazing into the future.


by Mother Goose

The Pumpkin-Eater


Peter, Peter, pumpkin-eater,
Had a wife and couldn't keep her;
He put her in a pumpkin shell,
And there he kept her very well.


by Jonathan Swift

Oysters

 Charming oysters I cry:
My masters, come buy,
So plump and so fresh,
So sweet is their flesh,
No Colchester oyster
Is sweeter and moister:
Your stomach they settle,
And rouse up your mettle:
They'll make you a dad
Of a lass or a lad;
And madam your wife
They'll please to the life;
Be she barren, be she old,
Be she slut, or be she scold,
Eat my oysters, and lie near her,
She'll be fruitful, never fear her.


by Louise Gluck

Circes Grief

 In the end, I made myself
Known to your wife as
A god would, in her own house, in
Ithaca, a voice
Without a body: she
Paused in her weaving, her head turning
First to the right, then left
Though it was hopeless of course
To trace that sound to any
Objective source: I doubt
She will return to her loom
With what she knows now.
When You see her again, tell her This is how a god says goodbye: If I am in her head forever I am in your life forever.


by Thomas Lux

A Little Tooth

 Your baby grows a tooth, then two,
and four, and five, then she wants some meat
directly from the bone.
It's all over: she'll learn some words, she'll fall in love with cretins, dolts, a sweet talker on his way to jail.
And you, your wife, get old, flyblown, and rue nothing.
You did, you loved, your feet are sore.
It's dusk.
Your daughter's tall.


by Robert Creeley

The Way

 My love's manners in bed
are not to be discussed by me,
as mine by her
I would not credit comment upon gracefully.
Yet I ride by the margin of that lake in the wood, the castle, and the excitement of strongholds; and have a small boy's notion of doing good.
Oh well, I will say here, knowing each man, let you find a good wife too, and love her as hard as you can.


by David Lehman

September 22

 It's the day of the ram
and the head of the year
Rosh Ha'Shanah at
services I sat next to
Mel Torme who outshone
all comers with his bar
mitzvah heroics while on
my left is Barnett Newman
big talker whose favorite
subjects include the horses
and the stock market he
knows the odds the women
are seated upstairs this is
an orthodox congregation
very serious I make
eye contact with the wife
of Menelaus who runs off
with Paris confident I'm Paris.


by Dorothy Parker

Social Note

 Lady, lady, should you meet
One whose ways are all discreet,
One who murmurs that his wife
Is the lodestar of his life,
One who keeps assuring you
That he never was untrue,
Never loved another one .
.
.
Lady, lady, better run!


by Walt Whitman

Fast Anchor'd Eternal O Love

 FAST-ANCHOR’D, eternal, O love! O woman I love! 
O bride! O wife! more resistless than I can tell, the thought of you! 
—Then separate, as disembodied, or another born, 
Ethereal, the last athletic reality, my consolation; 
I ascend—I float in the regions of your love, O man,
O sharer of my roving life.


by Yosa Buson

Hes on the porch

 He's on the porch,
to escape the wife and kids--
how hot it is!


by Emily Dickinson

A Wife -- at daybreak I shall be

 A Wife -- at daybreak I shall be --
Sunrise -- Hast thou a Flag for me?
At Midnight, I am but a Maid,
How short it takes to make a Bride --
Then -- Midnight, I have passed from thee
Unto the East, and Victory --

Midnight -- Good Night! I hear them call,
The Angels bustle in the Hall --
Softly my Future climbs the Stair,
I fumble at my Childhood's prayer
So soon to be a Child no more --
Eternity, I'm coming -- Sire,
Savior -- I've seen the face -- before!