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 Muhammad Ali
22 Alice Walker
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 Gwendolyn Brooks

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Famous Short Write Poems

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

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Write | Short Famous Poems and Poets

 
by Shel Silverstein

The Toucan

 Tell me who can
Catch a toucan?
Lou can.
Just how few can Ride the toucan? Two can.
What kind of goo can Stick you to the toucan? Glue can.
Who can write some More about the toucan? You can!


by Ben Jonson

To All, To Whom I Write


IX.
 ? TO ALL TO WHOM I WRITE.
  
May none whose scatter'd names honor my book,
For strict degrees of rank or title look :
'Tis 'gainst the manners of an epigram ;
And I a poet here, no herald am.


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 Emily Dickinson

Who never lost are unprepared

 Who never lost, are unprepared
A Coronet to find!
Who never thirsted
Flagons, and Cooling Tamarind!

Who never climbed the weary league --
Can such a foot explore
The purple territories
On Pizarro's shore?

How many Legions overcome --
The Emperor will say?
How many Colors taken
On Revolution Day?

How many Bullets bearest?
Hast Thou the Royal scar?
Angels! Write "Promoted"
On this Soldier's brow!


by Oscar Wilde

To My Wife - With A Copy Of My Poems

 I can write no stately proem
As a prelude to my lay;
From a poet to a poem
I would dare to say.
For if of these fallen petals One to you seem fair, Love will waft it till it settles On your hair.
And when wind and winter harden All the loveless land, It will whisper of the garden, You will understand.


by Matsuo Basho

When the winter chrysanthemums go

 When the winter chrysanthemums go,
there's nothing to write about
 but radishes.


by Dorothy Parker

For A Sad Lady

 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 Charles Bukowski

Poetry

 it
takes
a lot of 
desperation 
dissatisfaction 
and 
disillusion 
to 
write 
a 
few
good
poems.
it's not for everybody either to write it or even to read it.


by Jane Austen

Miss Lloyd has now went to Miss Green

 Miss Lloyd has now sent to Miss Green,
As, on opening the box, may be seen,
Some years of a Black Ploughman's Gauze,
To be made up directly, because
Miss Lloyd must in mourning appear
For the death of a Relative dear--
Miss Lloyd must expect to receive
This license to mourn and to grieve,
Complete, ere the end of the week--
It is better to write than to speak


by George Herbert

H. Baptism II

 Since, Lord, to thee
A narrow way and little gate
Is all the passage, on my infancy
Thou didst lay hold, and antedate
My faith in me.
O let me still Write thee great God, and me a child: Let me be soft and supple to thy will, Small to my self, to others mild, Behither ill.
Although by stealth My flesh get on, yet let her sister My soul bid nothing, but preserve her wealth: The growth of flesh is but a blister; Childhood is health.


by George (Lord) Byron

I would to heaven that I were so much clay

 I would to heaven that I were so much clay,
As I am blood, bone, marrow, passion, feeling -
Because at least the past were passed away -
And for the future - (but I write this reeling,
Having got drunk exceedingly today,
So that I seem to stand upon the ceiling)
I say - the future is a serious matter - 
And so - for God's sake - hock and soda water!


by Sir Walter Raleigh

On Being Challenged to Write an Epigram in the Manner of Herrick

 To Griggs, that learned man, in many a bygone session, 
His kids were his delight, and physics his profession;
Now Griggs, grown old and glum, and less intent on knowledge,
Physics himself at home, and sends his kids to college.


by Ted Hughes

The Child Is Father To The Man

 'The child is father to the man.
' How can he be? The words are wild.
Suck any sense from that who can: 'The child is father to the man.
' No; what the poet did write ran, 'The man is father to the child.
' 'The child is father to the man!' How can he be? The words are wild.


by Ezra Pound

Notes for Canto CXX

 I have tried to write Paradise

Do not move
Let the wind speak
that is paradise.
Let the Gods forgive what I have made Let those I love try to forgive what I have made.


by Richard Brautigan

December 30

 At 1:30 in the morning a fart 
smells like a marriage between
an avocado and a fish head.
I have to get out of bed to write this down without my glasses on.


by William Strode

To His Sister

 Loving Sister: every line
Of your last letter was so fine
With the best mettle, that the grayne
Of Scrivener's pindust were but vayne:
The touch of Gold did sure instill
Some vertue more than did the Quill.
And since you write noe cleanly hand Your token bids mee understand Mine eyes have here a remedy Wherby to reade more easily.
I doe but jeast: your love alone Is my interpretation: My words I will recant, and sweare I know your hand is wondrous faire.


by Godfrey Mutiso Gorry

PUBLISHERS

 And then they pretend like owls
With marble eyes and wizened stupidity
I do not know why they cannot perceive
True art
But I will write
Until sand evaporates
And the moon consumes the sun
I will write
Even for the sake of art
For myself and for those who feel
Reading could lift them
Into other spheres of fancy
Where thoughts are much clearer
And deeds best described
As a vintage of the self
And society.


by Ruth Stone

So What

For me the great truths are laced with hysteria.
How many Einsteins can we tolerate? I leap into the uncertainty principle.
After so many smears, you want to wash it off with a laugh.
Ha ha, you say.
So what if it's a meltdown? Last lines to poems I will write immediately.


by Walt Whitman

Pensive and Faltering

 PENSIVE and faltering, 
The words, the dead, I write; 
For living are the Dead; 
(Haply the only living, only real, 
And I the apparition—I the spectre.
) 5


by James Wright

Outside Fargo North Dakota

 Along the sprawled body of the derailed Great Northern freight car,
I strike a match slowly and lift it slowly.
No wind.
Beyond town, three heavy white horses Wade all the way to their shoulders In a silo shadow.
Suddenly the freight car lurches.
The door slams back, a man with a flashlight Calls me good evening.
I nod as I write good evening, lonely And sick for home.


by Robert Herrick

TO ROBIN RED-BREAST

 Laid out for dead, let thy last kindness be
With leaves and moss-work for to cover me;
And while the wood-nymphs my cold corpse inter,
Sing thou my dirge, sweet-warbling chorister!
For epitaph, in foliage, next write this:
HERE, HERE THE TOMB OF ROBIN HERRICK IS!


by Anne Sexton

Obsessive Combination Of Onotological Inscape Trickery And Love

 Busy, with an idea for a code, I write
signals hurrying from left to right,
or right to left, by obscure routes,
for my own reasons; taking a word like writes
down tiers of tries until its secret rites
make sense; or until, suddenly, RATS
can amazingly and funnily become STAR
and right to left that small star
is mine, for my own liking, to stare
its five lucky pins inside out, to store
forever kindly, as if it were a star
I touched and a miracle I really wrote.


by Walter Savage Landor

Well I Remember How You Smiled

 Well I remember how you smiled
To see me write your name upon
The soft sea-sand .
.
.
"O! what a child! You think you're writing upon stone!" I have since written what no tide Shall ever wash away, what men Unborn shall read o'er ocean wide And find Ianthe's name again.


by Vachel Lindsay

Elizabeth Barrett Browning

 Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Sat gossiping with Robert.
(She was really a raving beauty in her day.
With Mary Pickford curls in clouds and whirls.
) She was trying to think of something nice to say, So she pointed to a page by her fellow star and sage, And said: "I wish that I could write that way!"


by Suheir Hammad

talisman

 it is written
the act of writing is
holy words are
sacred and your breath
brings out the 
god in them
i write these words
quickly repeat them
softly to myself
this talisman for you
fold this prayer
around your neck fortify
your back with these
whispers
may you walk ever
loved and in love
know the sun
for warmth the moon 
for direction
may these words always
remind you your breath
is sacred words
bring out the god
in you