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 Rudyard Kipling
15 William Butler Yeats
16 Alfred Lord Tennyson
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 Carol Ann Duffy
28 Ogden Nash
29 John Donne
30 Edgar Allan Poe
31 Ralph Waldo Emerson
32 Raymond Carver
33 Nikki Giovanni
34 John Keats
35 Lewis Carroll
36 Thomas Hardy
37 Spike Milligan
38 Thunchaththu Ramanujan Ezhuthachan
39 Mark Twain
40 Carl Sandburg
41 Percy Bysshe Shelley
42 Anne Sexton
43 Alexander Pushkin
44 Henry David Thoreau
45 Roger McGough
46 Elizabeth Barrett Browning
47 Sara Teasdale
48 Victor Hugo
49 Wendell Berry
50 George (Lord) Byron

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Famous Short Food Poems

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

Other Short Poem Pages


Poems are below...


Food | Short Famous Poems and Poets

 
by William Shakespeare

Under the Greenwood Tree

 Under the greenwood tree
Who loves to lie with me,
And turn his merry note
Unto the sweet bird's throat,
Come hither, come hither, come hither:
Here shall he see
No enemy
But winter and rough weather.
Who doth ambition shun, And loves to live i' the sun, Seeking the food he eats, And pleas'd with what he gets, Come hither, come hither, come hither: Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather.


by Adrian Green

Luna Lake Haiku

 New moon on the lake.
Your voice and the nightingale serenade springtime.
Full moon on the lake.
Your voice and the waterbirds celebrate summer.
Old moon on the lake.
Owls hunting autumnal food - your voice still singing.


by Sylvia Plath

April 18

 the slime of all my yesterdays
rots in the hollow of my skull

and if my stomach would contract
because of some explicable phenomenon
such as pregnancy or constipation

I would not remember you

or that because of sleep
infrequent as a moon of greencheese
that because of food
nourishing as violet leaves
that because of these

and in a few fatal yards of grass
in a few spaces of sky and treetops

a future was lost yesterday
as easily and irretrievably
as a tennis ball at twilight


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 R S Thomas

Sorry

 Dear parents,
I forgive you my life,
Begotten in a drab town,
The intention was good;
Passing the street now,
I see still the remains of sunlight.
It was not the bone buckled; You gave me enough food To renew myself.
It was the mind's weight Kept me bent, as I grew tall.
It was not your fault.
What should have gone on, Arrow aimed from a tried bow At a tried target, has turned back, Wounding itself With questions you had not asked.


by Robert Graves

Id Love To Be A Fairys Child

 Children born of fairy stock
Never need for shirt or frock,
Never want for food or fire,
Always get their hearts desire:
Jingle pockets full of gold,
Marry when they're seven years old.
Every fairy child may keep Two ponies and ten sheep; All have houses, each his own, Built of brick or granite stone; They live on cherries, they run wild-- I'd love to be a Fairy's child.


by Philip Larkin

The Little Lives Of Earth And Form

 The little lives of earth and form,
Of finding food, and keeping warm,
 Are not like ours, and yet
A kinship lingers nonetheless:
We hanker for the homeliness
 Of den, and hole, and set.
And this identity we feel - Perhaps not right, perhaps not real - Will link us constantly; I see the rock, the clay, the chalk, The flattened grass, the swaying stalk, And it is you I see.


by Hart Crane

Fear

 The host, he says that all is well
And the fire-wood glow is bright;
The food has a warm and tempting smell,—
But on the window licks the night.
Pile on the logs.
.
.
Give me your hands, Friends! No,— it is not fright.
.
.
But hold me.
.
.
somewhere I heard demands.
.
.
And on the window licks the night.


by Adrienne Rich

Miracle Ice Cream

 Miracle's truck comes down the little avenue,
Scott Joplin ragtime strewn behind it like pearls,
and, yes, you can feel happy
with one piece of your heart.
Take what's still given: in a room's rich shadow a woman's breasts swinging lightly as she bends.
Early now the pearl of dusk dissolves.
Late, you sit weighing the evening news, fast-food miracles, ghostly revolutions, the rest of your heart.


by Isaac Watts

Against Idleness and Mischief

 How doth the little busy Bee 
Improve each shining Hour,
And gather Honey all the day
From every opening Flower!

How skilfully she builds her Cell!
How neat she spreads the Wax!
And labours hard to store it well
With the sweet Food she makes.
In Works of Labour or of Skill I would be busy too: For Satan finds some Mischief still For idle Hands to do.
In Books, or Work, or healthful Play Let my first Years be past, That I may give for every Day Some good Account at last.


by Marge Piercy

The Friend

 We sat across the table.
he said, cut off your hands.
they are always poking at things.
they might touch me.
I said yes.
Food grew cold on the table.
he said, burn your body.
it is not clean and smells like sex.
it rubs my mind sore.
I said yes.
I love you, I said.
That's very nice, he said I like to be loved, that makes me happy.
Have you cut off your hands yet?


by Emily Dickinson

Fame is a fickle food

 Fame is a fickle food
Upon a shifting plate
Whose table once a
Guest but not
The second time is set.
Whose crumbs the crows inspect And with ironic caw Flap past it to the Farmer's Corn -- Men eat of it and die.


by Richard Brautigan

Karma Repair Kit: Items 1-4

  1.
Get enough food to eat, and eat it.
2.
Find a place to sleep where it is quiet, and sleep there.
3.
Reduce intellectual and emotional noise until you arrive at the silence of yourself, and listen to it.


by Omar Khayyam

The world's annoys I rate not at one grain,

The world's annoys I rate not at one grain,
So I eat once a day I don't complain;
And, since earth's kitchen yields no solid food,
I pester no man with petitions vain.


by Emily Dickinson

A Word made Flesh is seldom

 A Word made Flesh is seldom
And tremblingly partook
Nor then perhaps reported
But have I not mistook
Each one of us has tasted
With ecstasies of stealth
The very food debated
To our specific strength --

A Word that breathes distinctly
Has not the power to die
Cohesive as the Spirit
It may expire if He --
"Made Flesh and dwelt among us"
Could condescension be
Like this consent of Language
This loved Philology.


by Anonymous

THE BIRD'S NEST

There’s a nest in the hedge-row,
Half bid by the leaves,
And the sprays, white with blossom,
Bend o’er it like eaves.
God gives birds their lodging,
He gives them their food,
And they trust He will give them
Whatever is good.
Ah! when our rich blessings,
My child, we forget;
When for some little trouble
We murmur and fret;Hear sweet voices singing
In hedges and trees:
Shall we be less thankful,
Less trustful than these?
[Pg 030]


by Ellis Parker Butler

A Question

 Whene’er I feed the barnyard folk
 My gentle soul is vexed;
My sensibilities are torn
 And I am sore perplexed.
The rooster so politely stands While waiting for his food, But when I feed him, what a change! He then is rough and rude.
He crowds his gentle wives aside Or pecks them on the head; Sometimes I think it would be best If he were never fed.
And so I often stand for hours Deciding which is right— To impolitely have enough, Or starve and be polite.


by Katherine Mansfield

A Few Rules for Beginners

 Babies must not eat the coal
And they must not make grimaces,
Nor in party dresses roll
And must never black their faces.
They must learn that pointing's rude, They must sit quite still at table, And must always eat the food Put before them--if they're able.
If they fall, they must not cry, Though it's known how painful this is; No--there's always Mother by Who will comfort them with kisses.


by Edward Lear

There was an old person of Putney

There was an old person of Putney,
Whose food was roast spiders and chutney,
Which he took with his tea, within sight of the sea,
That romantic old person of Putney.


by Richard Crashaw

Divine Epigrams: On the Miracle of the Multiplied Loaves

 See here an easy feast that knows no wound,
That under hunger's teeth will needs be sound;
A subtle harvest of unbounded bread,
What would ye more? Here food itself is fed.


by Emily Dickinson

Art thou the thing I wanted?

 Art thou the thing I wanted?
Begone -- my Tooth has grown --
Supply the minor Palate
That has not starved so long --
I tell thee while I waited
The mystery of Food
Increased till I abjured it
And dine without Like God --

--

Art thou the thing I wanted?
Begone -- my Tooth has grown --
Affront a minor palate
Thou could'st not goad so long --

I tell thee while I waited --
The mystery of Food
Increased till I abjured it
Subsisting now like God --


by Les Murray

To Fly In Just Your Suit

 Humans are flown, or fall;
humans can't fly.
We're down with the gravity-stemmers, rare, thick-boned, often basso.
Most animals above the tides are airborne.
Typically tuned keen, they throw the ground away with wire feet and swoop rings round it.
Magpies, listening askance for their food in and under lawn, strut so hair-trigger they almost dangle on earth, out of the air.
Nearly anything can make their tailcoats break into wings.


by Robert Louis Stevenson

System

 Every night my prayers I say, 
And get my dinner every day; 
And every day that I've been good, 
I get an orange after food.
The child that is not clean and neat, With lots of toys and things to eat, He is a naughty child, I'm sure-- Or else his dear papa is poor.


by Emily Dickinson

I fit for them --

 I fit for them --
I seek the Dark
Till I am thorough fit.
The labor is a sober one With this sufficient sweet That abstinence of mine produce A purer food for them, if I succeed, If not I had The transport of the Aim --


by Emily Dickinson

Had I not This or This I said

 Had I not This, or This, I said,
Appealing to Myself,
In moment of prosperity --
Inadequate -- were Life --

"Thou hast not Me, nor Me" -- it said,
In Moment of Reverse --
"And yet Thou art industrious --
No need -- hadst Thou -- of us"?

My need -- was all I had -- I said --
The need did not reduce --
Because the food -- exterminate --
The hunger -- does not cease --

But diligence -- is sharper --
Proportioned to the Chance --
To feed upon the Retrograde --
Enfeebles -- the Advance --