Poems about life, at times, may give us a glimpse of insight into life. Whatever, they are always good to read at least once!
Poems about life by author-names starting with A
Anna Akhmatova:
Poem about life: this one titled I Taught Myself To Live Simply:
I taught myself to live simply and wisely, to look at the sky and pray to God, and to wander long before evening to tire my superfluous worries. When the burdocks rustle in the ravine and the yellow-red rowanberry cluster droops I compose happy verses about life's decay, decay and beauty. I come back. The fluffy cat licks my palm, purrs so sweetly and the fire flares bright on the saw-mill turret by the lake. Only the cry of a stork landing on the roof occasionally breaks the silence. If you knock on my door I may not even hear.
Poems about life by author-names starting with A
E. E. Cummings:
Poems about life: this one titled Seeker Of Truth:
seeker of truth
follow no path all paths lead where
truth is here
Poems about life by author-names starting with A
Jack Prelutsky:
Poems about life: this one titled Be Glad Your Nose is on Your Face:
Be glad your nose is on your face, not pasted on some other place, for if it were where it is not, you might dislike your nose a lot.
Imagine if your precious nose were sandwiched in between your toes, that clearly would not be a treat, for you'd be forced to smell your feet.
Your nose would be a source of dread were it attached atop your head, it soon would drive you to despair, forever tickled by your hair.
Within your ear, your nose would be an absolute catastrophe, for when you were obliged to sneeze, your brain would rattle from the breeze.
Your nose, instead, through thick and thin, remains between your eyes and chin, not pasted on some other place-- be glad your nose is on your face!
Poems about life by author-names starting with A
Langston Hughes:
Poems about life: this one titled Life Is Fine:
I went down to the river, I set down on the bank. I tried to think but couldn't, So I jumped in and sank.
I came up once and hollered! I came up twice and cried! If that water hadn't a-been so cold I might've sunk and died.
But it was Cold in that water! It was cold!
I took the elevator Sixteen floors above the ground. I thought about my baby And thought I would jump down.
I stood there and I hollered! I stood there and I cried! If it hadn't a-been so high I might've jumped and died.
But it was High up there! It was high!
So since I'm still here livin', I guess I will live on. I could've died for love-- But for livin' I was born
Though you may hear me holler, And you may see me cry-- I'll be dogged, sweet baby, If you gonna see me die.
Life is fine! Fine as wine! Life is fine!
Poems about life by author-names starting with A
Maya Angelou:
Poems about life: this one titled I know why the caged bird sings:
A free bird leaps on the back Of the wind and floats downstream Till the current ends and dips his wing In the orange suns rays And dares to claim the sky.
But a BIRD that stalks down his narrow cage Can seldom see through his bars of rage His wings are clipped and his feet are tied So he opens his throat to sing.
The caged bird sings with a fearful trill Of things unknown but longed for still And his tune is heard on the distant hill for The caged bird sings of freedom.
The free bird thinks of another breeze And the trade winds soft through The sighing trees And the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright Lawn and he names the sky his own.
But a caged BIRD stands on the grave of dreams His shadow shouts on a nightmare scream His wings are clipped and his feet are tied So he opens his throat to sing.
The caged bird sings with A fearful trill of things unknown But longed for still and his Tune is heard on the distant hill For the caged bird sings of freedom.
Maya Angelou:
Poems about life: this one titled Still I Rise:
You may write me down in history With your bitter, twisted lies, You may trod me in the very dirt But still, like dust, I'll rise.
Does my sassiness upset you? Why are you beset with gloom? 'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells Pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns, With the certainty of tides, Just like hopes springing high, Still I'll rise.
Did you want to see me broken? Bowed head and lowered eyes? Shoulders falling down like teardrops. Weakened by my soulful cries.
Does my haughtiness offend you? Don't you take it awful hard 'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines Diggin' in my own back yard.
You may shoot me with your words, You may cut me with your eyes, You may kill me with your hatefulness, But still, like air, I'll rise.
Does my sexiness upset you? Does it come as a surprise That I dance like I've got diamonds At the meeting of my thighs?
Out of the huts of history's shame I rise Up from a past that's rooted in pain I rise I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide, Welling and swelling I bear in the tide. Leaving behind nights of terror and fear I rise Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear I rise Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave, I am the dream and the hope of the slave. I rise I rise I rise.
Poems about life by author-names starting with A
Raymond Carver:
Poems about life: this one titled Happiness:
So early it's still almost dark out. I'm near the window with coffee, and the usual early morning stuff that passes for thought.
When I see the boy and his friend walking up the road to deliver the newspaper.
They wear caps and sweaters, and one boy has a bag over his shoulder. They are so happy they aren't saying anything, these boys.
I think if they could, they would take each other's arm. It's early in the morning, and they are doing this thing together.
They come on, slowly. The sky is taking on light, though the moon still hangs pale over the water.
Such beauty that for a minute death and ambition, even love, doesn't enter into this.
Happiness. It comes on unexpectedly. And goes beyond, really, any early morning talk about it.
Poems about life by author-names starting with A
Robert Frost:
Poems about life: this one titled The Road Not Taken:
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same, And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I- I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.
Poems about life by author-names starting with A
Sylvia Plath:
Poems about life: this one titled A Life:
Touch it: it won't shrink like an eyeball, This egg-shaped bailiwick, clear as a tear. Here's yesterday, last year --- Palm-spear and lily distinct as flora in the vast Windless threadwork of a tapestry.
Flick the glass with your fingernail: It will ping like a Chinese chime in the slightest air stir Though nobody in there looks up or bothers to answer. The inhabitants are light as cork, Every one of them permanently busy.
At their feet, the sea waves bow in single file. Never trespassing in bad temper: Stalling in midair, Short-reined, pawing like paradeground horses. Overhead, the clouds sit tasseled and fancy
As Victorian cushions. This family Of valentine faces might please a collector: They ring true, like good china.
Elsewhere the landscape is more frank. The light falls without letup, blindingly.
A woman is dragging her shadow in a circle About a bald hospital saucer. It resembles the moon, or a sheet of blank paper And appears to have suffered a sort of private blitzkrieg. She lives quietly
With no attachments, like a foetus in a bottle, The obsolete house, the sea, flattened to a picture She has one too many dimensions to enter. Grief and anger, exorcised, Leave her alone now.
The future is a grey seagull Tattling in its cat-voice of departure. Age and terror, like nurses, attend her, And a drowned man, complaining of the great cold, Crawls up out of the sea.
Poems about life by author-names starting with A
William Shakespeare:
Poems about life: this one titled All the World's a Stage:
All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players; They have their exits and their entrances, And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant, Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms. Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel And shining morning face, creeping like snail Unwillingly to school. And then the lover, Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier, Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard, Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel, Seeking the bubble reputation Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice, In fair round belly with good capon lined, With eyes severe and beard of formal cut, Full of wise saws and modern instances; And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts Into the lean and slippered pantaloon, With spectacles on nose and pouch on side; His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice, Turning again toward childish treble, pipes And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all, That ends this strange eventful history, Is second childishness and mere oblivion, Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
These are the poems about life that appealed me quite a bit - in a way; they are my personal choice from amongst a host of them.
I'll keep adding more to them as and when I come across the ones that touch me deep.
Keep checking, if you please!
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