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Dorothy Parker Short Poems

Famous Short Dorothy Parker Poems. Short poetry by famous poet Dorothy Parker. A collection of the all-time best Dorothy Parker short poems


by Dorothy Parker
 In May my heart was breaking-
Oh, wide the wound, and deep!
And bitter it beat at waking,
And sore it split in sleep.
And when it came November, I sought my heart, and sighed, "Poor thing, do you remember?" "What heart was that?" it cried.



by Dorothy Parker
 Never love a simple lad,
Guard against a wise,
Shun a timid youth and sad,
Hide from haunted eyes.
Never hold your heart in pain For an evil-doer; Never flip it down the lane To a gifted wooer.
Never love a loving son, Nor a sheep astray; Gather up your skirts and run From a tender way.
Never give away a tear, Never toss a pine; Should you heed my words, my dear, You're no blood of mine!

by Dorothy Parker
 Roses, rooted warm in earth,
Bud in rhyme, another age;
Lilies know a ghostly birth
Strewn along a patterned page;
Golden lad and chimbley sweep
Die; and so their song shall keep.
Wind that in Arcadia starts In and out a couplet plays; And the drums of bitter hearts Beat the measure of a phrase.
Sweets and woes but come to print Quae cum ita sint.

by Dorothy Parker
 If wild my breast and sore my pride,
I bask in dreams of suicide;
If cool my heart and high my head,
I think, "How lucky are the dead!"

by Dorothy Parker
 If I had a shiny gun,
I could have a world of fun
Speeding bullets through the brains
Of the folk who give me pains;

Or had I some poison gas,
I could make the moments pass
Bumping off a number of
People whom I do not love.
But I have no lethal weapon- Thus does Fate our pleasure step on! So they still are quick and well Who should be, by rights, in hell.

by Dorothy Parker
 Travel, trouble, music, art,
A kiss, a frock, a rhyme-
I never said they feed my heart,
But still they pass my time.

by Dorothy Parker
 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 Dorothy Parker
 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!

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by Dorothy Parker
 There's little in taking or giving,
There's little in water or wine;
This living, this living, this living
Was never a project of mine.
Oh, hard is the struggle, and sparse is The gain of the one at the top, For art is a form of catharsis, And love is a permanent flop, And work is the province of cattle, And rest's for a clam in a shell, So I'm thinking of throwing the battle- Would you kindly direct me to hell?

by Dorothy Parker
 So silent I when Love was by
He yawned, and turned away;
But Sorrow clings to my apron-strings,
I have so much to say.

by Dorothy Parker
 Authors and actors and artists and such
Never know nothing, and never know much.
Sculptors and singers and those of their kidney Tell their affairs from Seattle to Sydney.
Playwrights and poets and such horses' necks Start off from anywhere, end up at sex.
Diarists, critics, and similar roe Never say nothing, and never say no.
People Who Do Things exceed my endurance; God, for a man that solicits insurance!

by Dorothy Parker
 For this my mother wrapped me warm,
And called me home against the storm,
And coaxed my infant nights to quiet,
And gave me roughage in my diet,
And tucked me in my bed at eight,
And clipped my hair, and marked my weight,
And watched me as I sat and stood:
That I might grow to womanhood
To hear a whistle and drop my wits
And break my heart to clattering bits.

by Dorothy Parker
 Were you to cross the world, my dear,
To work or love or fight,
I could be calm and wistful here,
And close my eyes at night.
It were a sweet and gallant pain To be a sea apart; But, oh, to have you down the lane Is bitter to my heart.

by Dorothy Parker
 Four be the things I am wiser to know:
Idleness, sorrow, a friend, and a foe.
Four be the things I’d been better without: Love, curiosity, freckles, and doubt.
Three be the things I shall never attain: Envy, content, and sufficient champagne.
Three be the things I shall have till I die: Laughter and hope and a sock in the eye.

by Dorothy Parker
 Should Heaven send me any son,
I hope he's not like Tennyson.
I'd rather have him play a fiddle Than rise and bow and speak an idyll.

by Dorothy Parker
 And let her loves, when she is dead,
Write this above her bones:
"No more she lives to give us bread
Who asked her only stones.
"

by Dorothy Parker
 The Lives and Times of John Keats,
Percy Bysshe Shelley, and
George Gordon Noel, Lord Byron

Byron and Shelley and Keats
Were a trio of Lyrical treats.
The forehead of Shelley was cluttered with curls, And Keats never was a descendant of earls, And Byron walked out with a number of girls, But it didn't impair the poetical feats Of Byron and Shelley, Of Byron and Shelley, Of Byron and Shelley and Keats.

by Dorothy Parker
 Say my love is easy had,
Say I'm bitten raw with pride,
Say I am too often sad-
Still behold me at your side.
Say I'm neither brave nor young, Say I woo and coddle care, Say the devil touched my tongue- Still you have my heart to wear.
But say my verses do not scan, And I get me another man!

by Dorothy Parker
 My answers are inadequate
To those demanding day and date
And ever set a tiny shock
Through strangers asking what's o'clock;
Whose days are spent in whittling rhyme-
What's time to her, or she to Time?

by Dorothy Parker
 Oh, is it, then, Utopian
To hope that I may meet a man
Who'll not relate, in accents suave,
The tales of girls he used to have?

by Dorothy Parker
 Once, when I was young and true,
Someone left me sad-
Broke my brittle heart in two;
And that is very bad.
Love is for unlucky folk, Love is but a curse.
Once there was a heart I broke; And that, I think, is worse.

by Dorothy Parker
 Who call him spurious and shoddy
Shall do it o'er my lifeless body.
I heartily invite such birds To come outside and say those words!

by Dorothy Parker
 If I should labor through daylight and dark,
Consecrate, valorous, serious, true,
Then on the world I may blazon my mark;
And what if I don't, and what if I do?

by Dorothy Parker
 The ladies men admire, I've heard, 
Would shudder at a wicked word.
Their candle gives a single light; They'd rather stay at home at night.
They do not keep awake till three, Nor read erotic poetry.
They never sanction the impure, Nor recognize an overture.
They shrink from powders and from paints .
.
.
So far, I've had no complaints.

by Dorothy Parker
 When I admit neglect of Gissing,
They say I don't know what I'm missing.
Until their arguments are subtler, I think I'll stick to Samuel Butler.