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SHORT-QUOTES-AND-POEMS.COM
 

Some of the best short poems and rhymes from our collection . . . funny poems, sad poems, love poems, famous poems . . . and everyone contains less than 1000 characters . . . Yes - we have kept them SHORT.

Funny Short Poems - 844

Poem : Tempest Tossed And Sore Afflicted by Robert Louis Stevenson by Robert Louis Stevenson

Tempest tossed and sore afflicted, sin defiled and care oppressed,
Come to me, all ye that labour; come, and I will give ye rest.
Fear no more, O doubting hearted; weep no more, O weeping eye!
Lo, the voice of your redeemer; lo, the songful morning near.

Here one hour you toil and combat, sin and suffer, bleed and die;
In my father's quiet mansion soon to lay your burden by.
Bear a moment, heavy laden, weary hand and weeping eye.
Lo, the feet of your deliverer; lo, the hour of freedom here.


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Poem : Last Hill In A Vista by Louise Bogan

Come, let us tell the weeds in ditches
How we are poor, who once had riches,
And lie out in the sparse and sodden
Pastures that the cows have trodden,
The while an autumn night seals down
The comforts of the wooden town.

Come, let us counsel some cold stranger
How we sought safety, but loved danger.
So, with stiff walls about us, we
Chose this more fragile boundary:
Hills, where light poplars, the firm oak,
Loosen into a little smoke.


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Poem : Long, Too Long, O Land! by Walt Whitman

Long, too long, O land,
Traveling roads all even and peaceful, you learn'd from joys and
prosperity only;
But now, ah now, to learn from crises of anguish--advancing,
grappling with direst fate, and recoiling not;
And now to conceive, and show to the world, what your children
en-masse really are;
(For who except myself has yet conceiv'd what your children en-masse
really are?)


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Poem : Dream Song 33: An apple arc'd toward Kleitos; whose great King by John Berryman

An apple arc'd toward Kleitos; whose great King
wroth & of wine did study where his sword,
sneaked away, might be . . .
with swollen lids staggered up and clung
dim to the cloth of gold. An un-Greek word
blister, to him guard,

and the trumpeter would not sound, fisted. Ha,
they hustle Clitus out; by another door,
loaded, crowds he back in
who now must, chopped, fall to the spear-ax ah
grabbed from an extra by the boy-god, sore
for weapons. For the sin:

little it is gross Henry has to say.
The King heaved. Pluckt out, the ax-end would
he jab in his sole throat.
As if an end. A baby, the guard may
squire him to his apartments. Weeping & blood
wound round his one friend.



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