Short Poetry by Popular Famous Poets

 Poet
1 William Wordsworth
2 Oscar Wilde
3 William Shakespeare
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 Sandra Cisneros
21 Muhammad Ali
22 Alice Walker
23 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
24 Billy Collins
25 Sarojini Naidu
26 Christina Rossetti
27 Carol Ann Duffy
28 Edgar Allan Poe
29 John Donne
30 Ralph Waldo Emerson
31 Nikki Giovanni
32 John Keats
33 Raymond Carver
34 Ogden Nash
35 Lewis Carroll
36 Thomas Hardy
37 Mark Twain
38 Spike Milligan
39 Anne Sexton
40 Carl Sandburg
41 Alexander Pushkin
42 Elizabeth Barrett Browning
43 Percy Bysshe Shelley
44 Henry David Thoreau
45 Victor Hugo
46 Roger McGough
47 Sara Teasdale
48 George (Lord) Byron
49 Gary Soto
50 Gwendolyn Brooks

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Famous Short Woman Poems

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

Other Short Poem Pages


Poems are below...


Woman | Short Famous Poems and Poets

 
by Gwendolyn Brooks

The Crazy Woman

 I shall not sing a May song.
A May song should be gay.
I'll wait until November And sing a song of gray.
I'll wait until November That is the time for me.
I'll go out in the frosty dark And sing most terribly.
And all the little people Will stare at me and say, "That is the Crazy Woman Who would not sing in May.
"


by Charles Bukowski

Love and Fame and Death

 it sits outside my window now
like and old woman going to market;
it sits and watches me,
it sweats nevously
through wire and fog and dog-bark
until suddenly
I slam the screen with a newspaper
like slapping at a fly
and you could hear the scream
over this plain city,
and then it left.
the way to end a poem like this is to become suddenly quiet.


by Tupac Shakur

Jada

u r the omega of my heart
the foundation of my conception of love
when i think of what a black woman should be
its u that i first think of

u will never fully understand
how deeply my heart feels 4 u
i worry that we'll grow apart
and i'll end up losing u


u bring me 2 climax without sex
and u do it all with regal grace
u r my heart in human form
a friend i could never replace


by Oscar Wilde

REQUIESCAT

 Tread lightly, she is near
Under the snow,
Speak gently, she can hear
The daisies grow.
All her bright golden hair Tarnished with rust, She that was young and fair Fallen to dust.
Lily-like, white as snow, She hardly knew She was a woman, so Sweetly she grew.
Coffin-board, heavy stone, Lie on her breast, I vex my heart alone, She is at rest.
Peace, Peace, she cannot hear Lyre or sonnet, All my life's buried here, Heap earth upon it.
AVIGNON


by Yehuda Amichai

Jerusalem

 On a roof in the Old City
Laundry hanging in the late afternoon sunlight:
The white sheet of a woman who is my enemy,
The towel of a man who is my enemy,
To wipe off the sweat of his brow.
In the sky of the Old City A kite.
At the other end of the string, A child I can't see Because of the wall.
We have put up many flags, They have put up many flags.
To make us think that they're happy.
To make them think that we're happy.


by Langston Hughes

Madam And Her Madam

 I worked for a woman,
She wasn't mean--
But she had a twelve-room
House to clean.
Had to get breakfast, Dinner, and supper, too-- Then take care of her children When I got through.
Wash, iron, and scrub, Walk the dog around-- It was too much, Nearly broke me down.
I said, Madam, Can it be You trying to make a Pack-horse out of me? She opened her mouth.
She cried, Oh, no! You know, Alberta, I love you so! I said, Madam, That may be true-- But I'll be dogged If I love you!


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 James A Emanuel

For A Depressed Woman

 I
My friends do not know.
But what could my friends not know? About what? What friends? II She sleeps late each day, stifling each reason to rise, choked into the quilt.
III "I'll never find work.
" She swallows this thought with pills, finds tears in the glass.


by A E Housman

O Why Do You Walk (a Parody)

 O why do you walk through the fields in boots,
Missing so much and so much?
O fat white woman whom nobody shoots,
Why do you walk through the fields in boots,
When the grass is soft as the breast of coots
And shivering-sweet to the touch?


by Lawrence Ferlinghetti

Recipe For Happiness Khaborovsk Or Anyplace

 One grand boulevard with trees
with one grand cafe in sun
with strong black coffee in very small cups.
One not necessarily very beautiful man or woman who loves you.
One fine day.


by Walt Whitman

Bathed in War's Perfume

 BATHED in war’s perfume—delicate flag! 
(Should the days needing armies, needing fleets, come again,) 
O to hear you call the sailors and the soldiers! flag like a beautiful woman! 
O to hear the tramp, tramp, of a million answering men! O the ships they arm with joy! 
O to see you leap and beckon from the tall masts of ships!
O to see you peering down on the sailors on the decks! 
Flag like the eyes of women.


by Dorothy Parker

General Review Of The Sex Situation

 Woman wants monogamy;
Man delights in novelty.
Love is woman's moon and sun; Man has other forms of fun.
Woman lives but in her lord; Count to ten, and man is bored.
With this the gist and sum of it, What earthly good can come of it?


by Denise Levertov

In Mind

 There's in my mind a woman
of innocence, unadorned but

fair-featured and smelling of
apples or grass.
She wears a utopian smock or shift, her hair is light brown and smooth, and she is kind and very clean without ostentation- but she has no imagination And there's a turbulent moon-ridden girl or old woman, or both, dressed in opals and rags, feathers and torn taffeta, who knows strange songs but she is not kind.


by William Butler Yeats

A Poet To His Beloved

 I bring you with reverent hands
The books of my numberless dreams,
White woman that passion has worn
As the tide wears the dove-grey sands,
And with heart more old than the horn
That is brimmed from the pale fire of time:
White woman with numberless dreams,
I bring you my passionate rhyme.


by Carl Sandburg

Old Woman

 THE owl-car clatters along, dogged by the echo
From building and battered paving-stone.
The headlight scoffs at the mist, And fixes its yellow rays in the cold slow rain; Against a pane I press my forehead And drowsily look on the walls and sidewalks.
The headlight finds the way And life is gone from the wet and the welter-- Only an old woman, bloated, disheveled and bleared.
Far-wandered waif of other days, Huddles for sleep in a doorway, Homeless.


by Carl Sandburg

Autumn Movement

 I CRIED over beautiful things knowing no beautiful thing lasts.
The field of cornflower yellow is a scarf at the neck of the copper sunburned woman, the mother of the year, the taker of seeds.
The northwest wind comes and the yellow is torn full of holes, new beautiful things come in the first spit of snow on the northwest wind, and the old things go, not one lasts.


by Sylvia Plath

Poppies In October

 Even the sun-clouds this morning cannot manage such skirts.
Nor the woman in the ambulance Whose red heart blooms through her coat so astoundingly ---- A gift, a love gift Utterly unasked for By a sky Palely and flamily Igniting its carbon monoxides, by eyes Dulled to a halt under bowlers.
O my God, what am I That these late mouths should cry open In a forest of frost, in a dawn of cornflowers.


by W S Merwin

For the Anniversary of My Death

Every year without knowing it I have passed the day
When the last fires will wave to me
And the silence will set out
Tireless traveler
Like the beam of a lightless star
Then I will no longer
Find myself in life as in a strange garment
Surprised at the earth
And the love of one woman
And then shamelessness of men
As today writing after three days of rain
Hearing the wren sing and the falling cease
And bowing not knowing to what


by Yosa Buson

White blossoms of the pear

 White blossoms of the pear
and a woman in moonlight
 reading a letter.


by William Butler Yeats

A Nativity

 What woman hugs her infant there?
Another star has shot an ear.
What made the drapery glisten so? Not a man but Delacroix.
What made the ceiling waterproof? Landor's tarpaulin on the roof What brushes fly and moth aside? Irving and his plume of pride.
What hurries out the knaye and dolt? Talma and his thunderbolt.
Why is the woman terror-struck? Can there be mercy in that look?


by Oliver Goldsmith

When Lovely Woman Stoops To Folly

 When lovely woman stoops to folly,
And finds too late that men betray,
What charm can soothe her melancholy,
What art can wash her guilt away?

The only art her guilt to cover,
To hide her shame from every eye,
To give repentance to her lover,
And wring his bosom, is—to die.


by Robert Desnos

Fairy Tale

 Many times upon a time
There was a man who loved a woman.
Many times upon a time There was a woman who loved a man.
Many times upon a time There was a man and there was a woman Who did not love the ones who loved them.
Once upon a time Perhaps only once A man and a woman who loved each other.


by Yehuda Amichai

I Know A Man

 I know a man
who photographed the view he saw
from the window of the room where he made love
and not the face of the woman he loved there.


by Anne Sexton

Housewife

 Some women marry houses.
It's another kind of skin; it has a heart, a mouth, a liver and bowel movements.
The walls are permanent and pink.
See how she sits on her knees all day, faithfully washing herself down.
Men enter by force, drawn back like Jonah into their fleshy mothers.
A woman is her mother.
That's the main thing.


by William Henry Davies

the moon

 when the body of a woman dissolves
within are the three feared faces

the man who dares to trace them comes
to grief - but nothing personal is meant

waves and particles transvest - vulva
breast and womb are sexless doors 

beyond whose suck a sensual light
swings life round its little finger