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 Billy Collins
24 Christina Rossetti
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 Thomas Hardy
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 Wendell Berry
47 Sara Teasdale
48 Victor Hugo
49 Elizabeth Barrett Browning
50 George (Lord) Byron

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Famous Short Women Poems

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

Other Short Poem Pages


Poems are below...


Women | Short Famous Poems and Poets

 
by Carl Sandburg

Happiness

 I ASKED the professors who teach the meaning of life to tell
me what is happiness.
And I went to famous executives who boss the work of thousands of men.
They all shook their heads and gave me a smile as though I was trying to fool with them And then one Sunday afternoon I wandered out along the Desplaines river And I saw a crowd of Hungarians under the trees with their women and children and a keg of beer and an accordion.


by Walt Whitman

Beautiful Women

 WOMEN sit, or move to and fro—some old, some young; 
The young are beautiful—but the old are more beautiful than the young.


by Ezra Pound

Tame Cat

 It rests me to be among beautiful women
Why should one always lie about such matters?
I repeat:
It rests me to converse with beautiful women
Even though we talk nothing but nonsense,

The purring of the invisible antennae
Is both stimulating and delightful.


by Susan Rich

For Sale

 Xhosa women in clothes too light

for the weather have brought wild flowers

and sit sloped along the Claremont road.
I see her through rolled windows, watch her watch me to decide if I’ll pay.
It’s South Africa, after all, after apartheid; but we’re still idling here, my car to her curb, my automatic locks to her inadequate wage.


by Carl Sandburg

Choices

 They offer you many things,
I a few.
Moonlight on the play of fountains at night With water sparkling a drowsy monotone, Bare-shouldered, smiling women and talk And a cross-play of loves and adulteries And a fear of death and a remembering of regrets: All this they offer you.
I come with: salt and bread a terrible job of work and tireless war; Come and have now: hunger.
danger and hate.


by Erica Jong

Autobiographical

 The lover in these poems
is me;
the doctor,
Love.
He appears as husband, lover analyst & muse, as father, son & maybe even God & surely death.
All this is true.
The man you turn to in the dark is many men.
This is an open secret women share & yet agree to hide as if they might then hide it from themselves.
I will not hide.
I write in the nude.
I name names.
I am I.
The doctor's name is Love.


by Stephen Crane

There was crimson clash of war

 There was crimson clash of war.
Lands turned black and bare; Women wept; Babes ran, wondering.
There came one who understood not these things.
He said, "Why is this?" Whereupon a million strove to answer him.
There was such intricate clamour of tongues, That still the reason was not.


by John Keats

Give Me Women Wine and Snuff

 GIVE me women, wine, and snuff 
Untill I cry out "hold, enough!" 
You may do so sans objection 
Till the day of resurrection: 
For, bless my beard, they aye shall be 
My beloved Trinity.


by Walt Whitman

Bathed in War's Perfume

 BATHED in war’s perfume—delicate flag! 
(Should the days needing armies, needing fleets, come again,) 
O to hear you call the sailors and the soldiers! flag like a beautiful woman! 
O to hear the tramp, tramp, of a million answering men! O the ships they arm with joy! 
O to see you leap and beckon from the tall masts of ships!
O to see you peering down on the sailors on the decks! 
Flag like the eyes of women.


by Sappho

Please

Come back to me Gongyla here tonight 
You my rose with your Lydian lyre.
There hovers forever around you delight:
A beauty desired. 

Even your garment plunders my eyes.
I am enchanted: I who once
Complained to the Cyprus-born goddess 
Whom I now beseech 

Never to let this lose me grace
But rather bring you back to me:
Amongst all mortal women the one
I most wish to see. 

--Translated by Paul Roche 


by Austin Clarke

The Planters Daughter

 When night stirred at sea,
An the fire brought a crowd in
They say that her beauty
Was music in mouth
And few in the candlelight
Thought her too proud,
For the house of the planter
Is known by the trees.
Men that had seen her Drank deep and were silent, The women were speaking Wherever she went -- As a bell that is rung Or a wonder told shyly And O she was the Sunday In every week.


by James Wright

Autumn Begins In Martins Ferry Ohio

 In the Shreve High football stadium,
I think of Polacks nursing long beers in Tiltonsville,
And gray faces of Negroes in the blast furnace at Benwood,
And the ruptured night watchman of Wheeling Steel,
Dreaming of heroes.
All the proud fathers are ashamed to go home.
Their women cluck like starved pullets, Dying for love.
Therefore, Their sons grow suicidally beautiful At the beginning of October, And gallop terribly against each other's bodies.


by Stephen Crane

Charity thou art a lie

 Charity thou art a lie,
A toy of women,
A pleasure of certain men.
In the presence of justice, Lo, the walls of the temple Are visible Through thy form of sudden shadows.


by Walt Whitman

Among the Multitude

 AMONG the men and women, the multitude, 
I perceive one picking me out by secret and divine signs, 
Acknowledging none else—not parent, wife, husband, brother, child, any nearer than I
 am; 
Some are baffled—But that one is not—that one knows me.
Ah, lover and perfect equal! I meant that you should discover me so, by my faint indirections; And I, when I meet you, mean to discover you by the like in you.


by William Butler Yeats

He Tells Of A Valley Full Of Lovers

 I dreamed that I stood in a valley, and amid sighs,
For happy lovers passed two by two where I stood;
And I dreamed my lost love came stealthily out of the wood
With her cloud-pale eyelids falling on dream-dimmed eyes:
I cried in my dream, O women, bid the young men lay
Their heads on your knees, and drown their eyes with your fair,
Or remembering hers they will find no other face fair
Till all the valleys of the world have been withered away.


by William Blake

Several Questions Answered

 What is it men in women do require?
The lineaments of Gratified Desire.
What is it women do in men require? The lineaments of Gratified Desire.
The look of love alarms Because 'tis fill'd with fire; But the look of soft deceit Shall Win the lover's hire.
Soft Deceit & Idleness, These are Beauty's sweetest dress.
He who binds to himself a joy Dot the winged life destroy; But he who kisses the joy as it flies Lives in Eternity's sunrise.


by Richard Brautigan

Love Poem

 There is always something to be made of pain.
Your mother knits.
She turns out scarves in every shade of red.
They were for Christmas, and they kept you warm while she married over and over, taking you along.
How could it work, when all those years she stored her widowed heart as though the dead come back.
No wonder you are the way you are, afraid of blood, your women like one brick wall after another.


by Emily Dickinson

How dare the robins sing

 How dare the robins sing,
When men and women hear
Who since they went to their account
Have settled with the year! --
Paid all that life had earned
In one consummate bill,
And now, what life or death can do
Is immaterial.
Insulting is the sun To him whose mortal light Beguiled of immortality Bequeaths him to the night.
Extinct be every hum In deference to him Whose garden wrestles with the dew, At daybreak overcome!


by William Butler Yeats

Statistics

 'Those Platonists are a curse,' he said,
'God's fire upon the wane,
A diagram hung there instead,
More women born than men.
'


by Anne Sexton

Housewife

 Some women marry houses.
It's another kind of skin; it has a heart, a mouth, a liver and bowel movements.
The walls are permanent and pink.
See how she sits on her knees all day, faithfully washing herself down.
Men enter by force, drawn back like Jonah into their fleshy mothers.
A woman is her mother.
That's the main thing.


by William Butler Yeats

Oil And Blood

 In tombs of gold and lapis lazuli
Bodies of holy men and women exude
Miraculous oil, odour of violet.
But under heavy loads of trampled clay Lie bodies of the vampires full of blood; Their shrouds are bloody and their lips are wet.


by William Blake

The Question Answered

 What is it men in women do require?
The lineaments of gratified Desire.
What is it women do in men require? The lineaments of gratified Desire


by Emily Dickinson

The Leaves like Women interchange

 The Leaves like Women interchange
Exclusive Confidence --
Somewhat of nods and somewhat
Portentous inference.
The Parties in both cases Enjoining secrecy -- Inviolable compact To notoriety.


by David Lehman

September 22

 It's the day of the ram
and the head of the year
Rosh Ha'Shanah at
services I sat next to
Mel Torme who outshone
all comers with his bar
mitzvah heroics while on
my left is Barnett Newman
big talker whose favorite
subjects include the horses
and the stock market he
knows the odds the women
are seated upstairs this is
an orthodox congregation
very serious I make
eye contact with the wife
of Menelaus who runs off
with Paris confident I'm Paris.


by Rupert Brooke

Theres Wisdom In Women

 "Oh love is fair, and love is rare;" my dear one she said,
"But love goes lightly over.
" I bowed her foolish head, And kissed her hair and laughed at her.
Such a child was she; So new to love, so true to love, and she spoke so bitterly.
But there's wisdom in women, of more than they have known, And thoughts go blowing through them, are wiser than their own, Or how should my dear one, being ignorant and young, Have cried on love so bitterly, with so true a tongue?