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 Alice Walker
22 Muhammad Ali
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 Thunchaththu Ramanujan Ezhuthachan

Poetry Forum Areas

Introduce Yourself

New to PoetrySoup? Introduce yourself here. Tell us something about yourself.

Looking for a Poem

Can't find a poem you've read before? Looking for a poem for a special person or an occasion? Ask other member for help.

Writing Poetry

Ways to improve your poetry. Post your techniques, tips, and creative ideas how to write better.

High Critique

For poets who want unrestricted constructive criticism. This is NOT a vanity workshop. If you do not want your poem seriously critiqued, do not post here. Constructive criticism only. PLEASE Only Post One Poem a Day!!!

How do I...?

Ask PoetrySoup Members how to do something or find something on PoetrySoup.



You have an ad blocker! We understand, but...

PoetrySoup is a small privately owned website. Our means of support comes from advertising revenue. We want to keep PoetrySoup alive, make it better, and keep it free. Please support us by disabling your ad blocker on PoetrySoup. See how to enable ads while keeping your ad blocker active. Thank you!

Famous Short June Poems

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

Other Short Poem Pages


Poems are below...


June | Short Famous Poems and Poets

 
by Gwendolyn Brooks

We Real Cool

 We real cool.
We Left School.
We Lurk late.
We Strike straight.
We Sing sin.
We Thin gin.
We Jazz June.
We Die soon.


by Emily Dickinson

Summer has two Beginnings --

 Summer has two Beginnings --
Beginning once in June --
Beginning in October
Affectingly again --

Without, perhaps, the Riot
But graphicker for Grace --
As finer is a going
Than a remaining Face --

Departing then -- forever --
Forever -- until May --
Forever is deciduous
Except to those who die --


by Mother Goose

Thirty Days Hath September


Thirty days hath September,
April, June, and November;
February has twenty-eight alone,
All the rest have thirty-one,
Excepting leap-year, that's the time
When February's days are twenty-nine.


by Louise Gluck

Lullaby

 Softly lie down
and close your eyes so blue
worry no more
for tonight I'll watch over you

Gently rest your head
against my soothing chest
for here in my arms
you've found a safe place to rest

Sleep sweet child
in peaceful undisturbed dreams
and don't awake
until the morning beams


June 25, 2006
©2006 Fenny


by Bertolt Brecht

The Solution

 After the uprising of the 17th June
The Secretary of the Writers Union
Had leaflets distributed in the Stalinallee
Stating that the people
Had forfeited the confidence of the government
And could win it back only
By redoubled efforts.
Would it not be easier In that case for the government To dissolve the people And elect another?


by Philip Larkin

Cut Grass

 Cut grass lies frail:
Brief is the breath
Mown stalks exhale.
Long, long the death It dies in the white hours Of young-leafed June With chestnut flowers, With hedges snowlike strewn, White lilac bowed, Lost lanes of Queen Anne's lace, And that high-builded cloud Moving at summer's pace.


by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

The Best Thing In The World

 What's the best thing in the world? 
June-rose, by May-dew impearled; 
Sweet south-wind, that means no rain; 
Truth, not cruel to a friend; 
Pleasure, not in haste to end; 
Beauty, not self-decked and curled 
Till its pride is over-plain; 
Light, that never makes you wink; 
Memory, that gives no pain; 
Love, when, so, you're loved again.
What's the best thing in the world? —Something out of it, I think.


by Emily Dickinson

The murmuring of Bees has ceased

 The murmuring of Bees, has ceased
But murmuring of some
Posterior, prophetic,
Has simultaneous come.
The lower metres of the Year When Nature's laugh is done The Revelations of the Book Whose Genesis was June.
Appropriate Creatures to her change The Typic Mother sends As Accent fades to interval With separating Friends Till what we speculate, has been And thoughts we will not show More intimate with us become Than Persons, that we know.


by Allen Ginsberg

Fourth Floor Dawn Up All Night Writing Letters

 Pigeons shake their wings on the copper church roof
out my window across the street, a bird perched on the cross
surveys the city's blue-grey clouds.
Larry Rivers 'll come at 10 AM and take my picture.
I'm taking your picture, pigeons.
I'm writing you down, Dawn.
I'm immortalizing your exhaust, Avenue A bus.
O Thought! Now you'll have to think the same thing forever! New York, June 7, 1980, 6:48 A.
M.


by Connie Wanek

Daisies

 In the democracy of daisies
every blossom has one vote.
The question on the ballot is Does he love me? If the answer's wrong I try another, a little sorry about the petals piling up around my shoes.
Bees are loose in the fields where daisies wait and hope, dreaming of the kiss of a proboscis.
We can't possibly understand what makes us such fools.
I blame the June heat and everything about him.


by A E Housman

Ho everyone that thirsteth

 Ho, everyone that thirsteth
And hath the price to give,
Come to the stolen waters,
Drink and your soul shall live.
Come to the stolen waters, And leap the guarded pale, And pull the flower in season Before desire shall fail.
It shall not last for ever, No more than earth and skies; But he that drinks in season Shall live before he dies.
June suns, you cannot store them To warm the winter's cold, The lad that hopes for heaven Shall fill his mouth with mold.


by Emily Dickinson

They dropped like Flakes

 They dropped like Flakes --
They dropped like Stars --
Like Petals from a Rose --
When suddenly across the June
A wind with fingers -- goes --

They perished in the Seamless Grass --
No eye could find the place --
But God can summon every face
Of his Repealless -- List.


by Fenny Sterenborg

Summer Colours

 Long curls
lightest blond
like silver and gold
in the saffron sun

Summer dresses
cool white
show lots of skin
golden brown

Painted toenails
fierce red
in summer shoes
walk by

and catch eyes
green and blue
behind black shades
against the gleam


June 20, 2006
©2006 Fenny


by Emily Dickinson

For this -- accepted Breath

 For this -- accepted Breath --
Through it -- compete with Death --
The fellow cannot touch this Crown --
By it -- my title take --
Ah, what a royal sake
To my necessity -- stooped down!

No Wilderness -- can be
Where this attendeth me --
No Desert Noon --
No fear of frost to come
Haunt the perennial bloom --
But Certain June!

Get Gabriel -- to tell -- the royal syllable --
Get Saints -- with new -- unsteady tongue --
To say what trance below
Most like their glory show --
Fittest the Crown!


by Robert Browning

Youll love me yet!—and I can tarry

 You'll love me yet!—and I can tarry
Your love's protracted growing:
June reared that bunch of flowers you carry
From seeds of April's sowing.
I plant a heartful now: some seed At least is sure to strike, And yield—what you'll not pluck indeed, Not love, but, may be, like! You'll look at least on love's remains, A grave's one violet: Your look?—that pays a thousand pains.
What's death?—You'll love me yet!


by Mother Goose

Bees


A swarm of bees in May
Is worth a load of hay;
A swarm of bees in June
Is worth a silver spoon;
A swarm of bees in July
Is not worth a fly.


by Emily Dickinson

The nearest Dream recedes -- unrealized

 The nearest Dream recedes -- unrealized --
The Heaven we chase,
Like the June Bee -- before the School Boy,
Invites the Race --
Stoops -- to an easy Clover --
Dips -- evades -- teases -- deploys --
Then -- to the Royal Clouds
Lifts his light Pinnace --
Heedless of the Boy --
Staring -- bewildered -- at the mocking sky --
Homesick for steadfast Honey --
Ah, the Bee flies not
That brews that rare variety!


by Delmore Schwartz

Poem (In the morning when it was raining)

 In the morning, when it was raining,
Then the birds were hectic and loudy;
Through all the reign is fall's entertaining;
Their singing was erratic and full of disorder:
They did not remember the summer blue
Or the orange of June.
They did not think at all Of the great red and bursting ball Of the kingly sun's terror and tempest, blazing, Once the slanting rain threw over all The colorless curtains of the ceaseless spontaneous fall.


by Amy Levy

June

 Last June I saw your face three times;
Three times I touched your hand;
Now, as before, May month is o'er,
And June is in the land.
O many Junes shall come and go, Flow'r-footed o'er the mead; O many Junes for me, to whom Is length of days decreed.
There shall be sunlight, scent of rose; Warm mist of summer rain; Only this change--I shall not look Upon your face again.


by Victor Hugo

HOLYROOD PALACE

 ("O palais, sois bénié.") 
 
 {II., June, 1839.} 


 Palace and ruin, bless thee evermore! 
 Grateful we bow thy gloomy tow'rs before; 
 For the old King of France{1} hath found in thee 
 That melancholy hospitality 
 Which in their royal fortune's evil day, 
 Stuarts and Bourbons to each other pay. 
 
 Fraser's Magazine. 
 
 {Footnote 1: King Charles X.} 


 





by Carl Sandburg

Garden Wireless

 HOW many feet ran with sunlight, water, and air?

What little devils shaken of laughter, cramming their little ribs with chuckles,

Fixed this lone red tulip, a woman’s mouth of passion kisses, a nun’s mouth of sweet thinking, here topping a straight line of green, a pillar stem?

Who hurled this bomb of red caresses?—nodding balloon-film shooting its wireless every fraction of a second these June days:
 Love me before I die;
 Love me—love me now.


by William Henry Davies

All in June

 A week ago I had a fire 
To warm my feet, my hands and face; 
Cold winds, that never make a friend, 
Crept in and out of every place.
Today the fields are rich in grass, And buttercups in thousands grow; I'll show the world where I have been-- With gold-dust seen on either shoe.
Till to my garden back I come, Where bumble-bees for hours and hours Sit on their soft, fat, velvet bums, To wriggle out of hollow flowers.


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 Emily Dickinson

There is a June when Corn is cut

 There is a June when Corn is cut
And Roses in the Seed --
A Summer briefer than the first
But tenderer indeed

As should a Face supposed the Grave's
Emerge a single Noon
In the Vermilion that it wore
Affect us, and return --

Two Seasons, it is said, exist --
The Summer of the Just,
And this of Ours, diversified
With Prospect, and with Frost --

May not our Second with its First
So infinite compare
That We but recollect the one
The other to prefer?


by Edgar Lee Masters

Francis Turner

 I could not run or play
In boyhood.
In manhood I could only sip the cup, Not drink -- For scarlet-fever left my heart diseased.
Yet I lie here Soothed by a secret none but Mary knows: There is a garden of acacia, Catalpa trees, and arbors sweet with vines -- There on that afternoon in June By Mary's side -- Kissing her with my soul upon my lips It suddenly took flight.