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 August Poems

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

Other Short Poem Pages


Poems are below...


August | Short Famous Poems and Poets

 
by Wystan Hugh (W H) Auden

August 1968

The Ogre does what ogres can,
Deeds quite impossible for Man,
But one prize is beyond his reach,
The Ogre cannot master Speech:
About a subjugated plain,
Among its desperate and slain,
The Ogre stalks with hands on hips,
While drivel gushes from his lips.


by Raymond Carver

Drinking While Driving

 It's August and I have not 
Read a book in six months 
except something called The Retreat from Moscow
by Caulaincourt 
Nevertheless, I am happy 
Riding in a car with my brother 
and drinking from a pint of Old Crow.
We do not have any place in mind to go, we are just driving.
If I closed my eyes for a minute I would be lost, yet I could gladly lie down and sleep forever beside this road My brother nudges me.
Any minute now, something will happen.


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 Derek Walcott

Midsummer Tobago

 Broad sun-stoned beaches.
White heat.
A green river.
A bridge, scorched yellow palms from the summer-sleeping house drowsing through August.
Days I have held, days I have lost, days that outgrow, like daughters, my harbouring arms.


by Li Po

About Tu Fu

 I met Tu Fu on a mountaintop
in August when the sun was hot.
Under the shade of his big straw hat his face was sad-- in the years since we last parted, he'd grown wan, exhausted.
Poor old Tu Fu, I thought then, he must be agonizing over poetry again.


by Emily Dickinson

Further in Summer than the Birds

 Further in Summer than the Birds
Pathetic from the Grass
A minor Nation celebrates
Its unobtrusive Mass.
No Ordinance be seen So gradual the Grace A pensive Custom it becomes Enlarging Loneliness.
Antiquest felt at Noon When August burning low Arise this spectral Canticle Repose to typify Remit as yet no Grace No Furrow on the Glow Yet a Druidic Difference Enhances Nature now


by Katherine Mansfield

Stars

 Most merciful God
Look kindly upon
An impudent child
Who wants sitting on.
This evening late I went to the door And then to the gate There were more stars--more Than I could have expected, Even I! I was amazed, Almighty, August! I was utterly dazed, Omnipotent! Just In a word I was floored, Good God of Hosts--Lord! That at this time of day They should still blaze away, That thou hadst not rejected Or at least circumspected Their white silver beauty-- Was it spite? Was it duty?


by Li Bai

About Du Fu

I met Du Fu on a mountaintop

in August when the sun was hot.
Under the shade of his big straw hat his face was sad-- in the years since we last parted, he'd grown wane, exhausted.
Poor old Du Fu, I thought then, he must be agonizing over poetry again.


by Emily Dickinson

There is a Zone whose even Years

 There is a Zone whose even Years
No Solstice interrupt --
Whose Sun constructs perpetual Noon
Whose perfect Seasons wait --

Whose Summer set in Summer, till
The Centuries of June
And Centuries of August cease
And Consciousness -- is Noon.


by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

TO THE RISING FULL MOON

 Dornburg, 25th August, 1828.
WILT thou suddenly enshroud thee, Who this moment wert so nigh? Heavy rising masses cloud thee, Thou art hidden from mine eye.
Yet my sadness thou well knowest, Gleaming sweetly as a star! That I'm loved, 'tis thou that showest, Though my loved one may be far.
Upward mount then! clearer, milder, Robed in splendour far more bright! Though my heart with grief throbs wilder, Fraught with rapture is the night! 1828.


by Elinor Wylie

August

 When my eyes are weeds,
And my lips are petals, spinning
Down the wind that has beginning
Where the crumpled beeches start
In a fringe of salty reeds;
When my arms are elder-bushes,
And the rangy lilac pushes
Upward, upward through my heart;

Summer, do your worst!
Light your tinsel moon, and call on
Your performing stars to fall on
Headlong through your paper sky;
Nevermore shall I be cursed
By a flushed and amorous slattern,
With her dusty laces' pattern
Trailing, as she straggles by.


by Robert Louis Stevenson

To Ottilie

 YOU remember, I suppose,
How the August sun arose,
And how his face
Woke to trill and carolette
All the cages that were set
About the place.
In the tender morning light All around lay strange and bright And still and sweet, And the gray doves unafraid Went their morning promenade Along the street.


by Emily Dickinson

In lands I never saw -- they say

 In lands I never saw -- they say
Immortal Alps look down --
Whose Bonnets touch the firmament --
Whose Sandals touch the town --

Meek at whose everlasting feet
A Myriad Daisy play --
Which, Sir, are you and which am I
Upon an August day?


by Carl Sandburg

Jaws

 SEVEN nations stood with their hands on the jaws of death.
It was the first week in August, Nineteen Hundred Fourteen.
I was listening, you were listening, the whole world was listening, And all of us heard a Voice murmuring: "I am the way and the light, He that believeth on me Shall not perish But shall have everlasting life.
" Seven nations listening heard the Voice and answered: "O Hell!" The jaws of death began clicking and they go on clicking.
"O Hell !"


by Emily Dickinson

Praise it -- tis dead --

 Praise it -- 'tis dead --
It cannot glow --
Warm this inclement Ear
With the encomium it earned
Since it was gathered here --
Invest this alabaster Zest
In the Delights of Dust --
Remitted -- since it flitted it
In recusance august.


by Constantine P Cavafy

Ionian

 Just because we've torn their statues down,
and cast them from their temples,
doesn't for a moment mean the gods are dead.
Land of Ionia, they love you yet, their spirits still remember you.
When an August morning breaks upon you a vigour from their lives stabs through your air; and sometimes an ethereal and youthful form in swiftest passage, indistinct, passes up above your hills.


by Adela Florence Cory Nicolson

When Love is Over

   Song of Khan Zada

   Only in August my heart was aflame,
     Catching the scent of your Wind-stirred hair,
   Now, though you spread it to soften my sleep
     Through the night, I should hardly care.

   Only last August I drank that water
     Because it had chanced to cool your hands;
   When love is over, how little of love
     Even the lover understands!