What's a good short poem by a well known poet

[wawi]

Where the Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein

I used to have a book of all these Shel Silverstein poems. I wonder what ever happened to it.

[Full Metal Ryder]

I used to have a book of all these Shel Silverstein poems. I wonder what ever happened to it.

It was lost in the great chicago pm purge of 1947

[Socks]

"Nobody Knows This Little Rose" by Emily Dickinson.

[superclucky]

"Nobody Knows This Little Rose" by Emily Dickinson.

OMG i LOVE Emily Dickinson


I'm severely retarded and thought her poem on that buzzing fly was funny

[marsipan]

Boa Constrictor
   

  Oh, I'm being eaten
By a boa constrictor,
A boa constrictor,
A boa constrictor,
I'm being eaten by a boa constrictor,
And I don't like it--one bit.
Well, what do you know?
It's nibblin' my toe.
Oh, gee,
It's up to my knee.
Oh my,
It's up to my thigh.
Oh, fiddle,
It's up to my middle.
Oh, heck,
It's up to my neck.
Oh, dread,
It's upmmmmmmmmmmffffffffff . . .

Shel Silverstein


He's gettin into some deep stuff here.

[Socks]

I'm severely retarded and thought her poem on that buzzing fly was funny

"I heard a fly buzz when I died;
The stillness round my form
Was like the stillness in the air
Between the heaves of storm.

The eyes beside had wrung them dry,
And breaths were gathering sure
For that last onset, when the king
Be witnessed in his power.

I willed my keepsakes, signed away
What portion of me I
Could make assignable,--and then
There interposed a fly,

With blue, uncertain, stumbling buzz,
Between the light and me;
And then the windows failed, and then
I could not see to see."

[LCK]

The Weary Blues by Langston Hughes



                  Droning a drowsy syncopated tune,
                  Rocking back and forth to a mellow croon,
                      I heard a Negro play.
                  Down on Lenox Avenue the other night
                  By the pale dull pallor of an old gas light
                      He did a lazy sway ....
                      He did a lazy sway ....
                  To the tune o' those Weary Blues.
                  With his ebony hands on each ivory key
                He made that poor piano moan with melody.
                    O Blues!
                Swaying to and fro on his rickety stool
                He played that sad raggy tune like a musical fool.
                    Sweet Blues!
                Coming from a black man's soul.
                    O Blues!
                In a deep song voice with a melancholy tone
                I heard that Negro sing, that old piano moan--
                    "Ain't got nobody in all this world,
                   Ain't got nobody but ma self.
                     I's gwine to quit ma frownin'
                     And put ma troubles on the shelf."
                Thump, thump, thump, went his foot on the floor.
                He played a few chords then he sang some more--
                    "I got the Weary Blues
                    And I can't be satisfied.
                    Got the Weary Blues
                    And can't be satisfied--
                    I ain't happy no mo'
                    And I wish that I had died."
                And far into the night he crooned that tune.
               The stars went out and so did the moon.
                The singer stopped playing and went to bed
               While the Weary Blues echoed through his head.
               He slept like a rock or a man that's dead.