Poetry

[نسترنگار]

[ltr]

Hi Folks!


Here, we're going to put poems, from famous poets and we're going to discuss them. English poems might look Scary, with all those weird words and strange expressions but if you read the right poem, it's just fun and you'll be asking for more. So, let's start; This is one of my all-time favorites:

Messy Room by Shel Silverstein


Whosever room this is should be ashamed!
His underwear is hanging on the lamp.
His raincoat is there in the overstuffed chair,
And the chair is becoming quite mucky and damp.
His workbook is wedged in the window,
His sweater's been thrown on the floor.
His scarf and one ski are beneath the TV,
And his pants have been carelessly hung on the door.
His books are all jammed in the closet,
His vest has been left in the hall.
A lizard named Ed is asleep in his bed,
And his smelly old sock has been stuck to the wall.
Whosever room this is should be ashamed!
Donald or Robert or Willie or--
Huh? You say it's mine? Oh, dear,
I knew it looked familiar!
​

You can find excellent poems here:


Famous Poets & Poems

I also recommend taking a look at this topic:

Your Own Poems


[rtl]

 

[نسترنگار]

پاسخ : Poetry

[ltr]
Very sad and disappointing feedback

Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep

Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sun on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight.
I am the soft starlight at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there; I did not die.
​

[rtl]

 

[nilufar77]

پاسخ : Poetry

Every night and every morn
Some to misery are born,
Every morn and every night
Some are born to sweet delight.

Some are born to sweet delight,
Some are born to endless night.

We are led to believe a lie
When we see not thro' the eye,
Which was born in a night to perish in a night,
When the soul slept in beams of light.

God appears, and God is light,
To those poor souls who dwell in night;
But does a human form display
To those who dwell in realms of day.

william blake.Auguries of Innocence

​

 

[!!!Anti-Law!!!]

پاسخ : Poetry

Brown Penny by William Butler Yeats
I whispered, 'I am too young,'
And then, 'I am old enough';
Wherefore I threw a penny
To find out if I might love.
'Go and love, go and love, young man,
If the lady be young and fair.'
Ah, penny, brown penny, brown penny,
I am looped in the loops of her hair.

O love is the crooked thing,
There is nobody wise enough
To find out all that is in it,
For he would be thinking of love
Till the stars had run away
And the shadows eaten the moon.
Ah, penny, brown penny, brown penny,
One cannot begin it too soon.​

 

[نسترنگار]

پاسخ : Poetry

[ltr]
The Sea.

An everywhere of silver,
With ropes of sand
To keep it from effacing
The track called land.
[rtl]

 

[!!!Anti-Law!!!]

پاسخ : Poetry

He Said To by Marvin Bell
crawl toward the machine guns
except to freeze
for explosions and flares.
It was still ninety degrees
at night in North Carolina,
August, rain and all.
The tracer bullets wanted
our asses, which we swore to keep
down, and the highlight
of this preposterous exercise
was finding myself in mud
and water during flares. I
hurried in the darkness--
over things and under things--
to reach the next black pool
in time, and once
I lay in the cool salve that
so suited all I had become
for two light-ups of the sky.
I took one inside and one
face of two watches I ruined
doing things like that,
and made a watch that works.
From the combat
infiltration course and
common sense, I made a man
to survive the Army, which means
that I made a man to survive
being a man.​

 

[paramore]

پاسخ : Poetry

The tiger

TIGER, tiger, burning bright
,In the forests of the night
What immortal hand or eye
?Could frame thy fearful symmetry

In what distant deeps or skies
?Burnt the fire of thine eyes
?On what wings dare he aspire
?What the hand dare seize the fire

And what shoulder and what art
?Could twist the sinews of thy heart
,And when thy heart began to beat
?What dread hand and what dread feet

?What the hammer? what the chain
?In what furnace was thy brain
What the anvil? What dread grasp
?Dare its deadly terrors clasp

,When the stars threw down their spears
,And water'd heaven with their tears
?Did He smile His work to see
?Did He who made the lamb make thee

Tiger, tiger, burning bright
,In the forests of the night
What immortal hand or eye
?Dare frame thy fearful symmetry

William Blake​