Famous Short Pocket Poems
Famous Short Pocket Poems. Short Pocket Poetry by Famous Poets. A collection of the all-time best Pocket short poems
by
Langston Hughes
When the shoe strings break
On both your shoes
And you're in a hurry-
That's the blues.
When you go to buy a candy bar
And you've lost the dime you had-
Slipped through a hole in your pocket somewhere-
That's the blues, too, and bad!
by
Henry Lawson
I'll tell you what you wanderers, who drift from town to town;
Don't look into a good girl's eyes, until you've settled down.
It's hard to go away alone and leave old chums behind-
It's hard to travel steerage when your tastes are more refined-
To reach a place when times are bad, and to be standing there,
No money in your pocket nor a decent rag to wear.
But be forced from that fond clasp, from that last clinging kiss-
By poverty! There is on earth no harder thing than this.
by
Mari Evans
Where have you gone
with your confident
walk with
your crooked smile
why did you leave
me
when you took your
laughter
and departed
are you aware that
with you
went the sun
all light
and what few stars
there were?
where have you gone
with your confident
walk your
crooked smile the
rent money
in one pocket and
my heart
in another . . .
by
Barry Tebb
When Blunkett starts to talk like Enoch Powell
I think of Harold Wilson’s statue in Huddersfield Station
Caught striding forward, gripping his pipe in his pocket,
Hair blowing in the wind.
could we but turn that bronze
To flesh I would have asked him to meet the two
Asylum-seekers I met in Huddersfield’s main street
And asked directions from. "We are Iranian refugees",
They stammered apologetically. "Then welcome to this country."
I said as we shook hands, their smiles like the sun.
by
Robert Burns
GRANT me, indulgent Heaven, that I may live,
To see the miscreants feel the pains they give;
Deal Freedom’s sacred treasures free as air,
Till Slave and Despot be but things that were.
by
Linda Pastan
Pierre Bonnard would enter
the museum with a tube of paint
in his pocket and a sable brush.
Then violating the sanctity
of one of his own frames
he'd add a stroke of vermilion
to the skin of a flower.
Just so I stopped you
at the door this morning
and licking my index finger, removed
an invisible crumb
from your vermilion mouth. As if
at the ritual moment of departure
I had to show you still belonged to me.
As if revision were
the purest form of love.
by
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Beyond M?gdalen and by the Bridge, on a place called there the Plain,
In Summer, in a burst of summertime
Following falls and falls of rain,
When the air was sweet-and-sour of the flown fineflower of
Those goldnails and their gaylinks that hang along a lime;
. . . . . . . .
The motion of that man’s heart is fine
Whom want could not make p?ne, p?ne
That struggling should not sear him, a gift should cheer him
Like that poor pocket of pence, poor pence of mine.
. . . . . . . .
by
Edward Lear
I
was an Inkstand new,Papa he likes to use it; He keeps it in his pocket now,For fear that he should lose it.
by
Mother Goose
Lucy Locket lost her pocket,Kitty Fisher found it;Nothing in it, nothing in it,But the binding round it.
by
Robert William Service
He burned a hole in frozen muck,
He pierced the icy mould,
And there in six-foot dirt he struck
A sack or so of gold.
He burned holes in the Decalogue,
And then it cam about,
For Fortune's just a lousy rogue,
His "pocket" petered out.
And lo! 'twas but a year all told,
When there in a shadow grim,
In six feet deep of icy mould
They burned a hole for him.
by
Mother Goose
Sing a song of sixpence, A pocket full of rye;Four-and-twenty blackbirds Baked in a pie!When the pie was opened The birds began to sing;Was not that a dainty dish To set before the king?The king was in his counting-house, Counting out his money;The queen was in the parlor, Eating bread and honey.The maid was in the garden, Hanging out the clothes;When down came a blackbird And snapped off her nose.
by
Emily Dickinson
Let me not thirst with this Hock at my Lip,
Nor beg, with Domains in my Pocket --
by
Emily Dickinson
Empty my Heart, of Thee --
Its single Artery --
Begin, and leave Thee out --
Simply Extinction's Date --
Much Billow hath the Sea --
One Baltic -- They --
Subtract Thyself, in play,
And not enough of me
Is left -- to put away --
"Myself" meanth Thee --
Erase the Root -- no Tree --
Thee -- then -- no me --
The Heavens stripped --
Eternity's vast pocket, picked --
by
Mother Goose
I had a little moppet, I put it in my pocket,And fed it with corn and hay. There came a proud beggar. And swore he should have her;And stole my little moppet away.