Unique, handpicked collection of short poems about life, love, and friendship that have, literally, changed my life, because they have changed the way I looked at and listened to the world.
Since the dawn of civilization, artists of all forms have sought to express the essence of the human condition and the full range of human experience. Poetry has been one of the most common forms of this expression from the ancients until now. These words have an ability to capture the abstract emotions and concrete experiences that have been part of our humanity throughout the ages.
Turning to the words of poems can help us to clarify and understand our own experiences better by connecting us to those others who have sought to do the same.
I would like to be the air that inhabits you for a moment only. O Captain! My Captain! They dull my eyes, yet I keep on dying, Because I love to live.
22 Fascinating Famous Short Poems About Life & Love For You
Poetry is a method of expression that uses specific words, their meaning or interpretation and rhythm to deliver exciting and imaginative ideas as well as evoke emotional actions and reactions. Poetry has the potential to provide you with insightful advice as well as encourage you, strengthen your resolve, motivate you to succeed, and even give you direction and clarity when your hope is shaken.
Some of these famous short poems you have heard before, but others may be new. Either way, we hope you love them! I keep on dying again. Veins collapse, opening like the Small fists of sleeping Children. Memory of old tombs, Rotting flesh and worms do Not convince me against The challenge. The years And cold defeat live deep in Lines along my face.
Life through my bloodshot eyes would scare a square 2 death poverty, murder, violence and never a moment 2 rest Fun and games are few but treasured like gold 2 me cuz I realize that I must return 2 my spot in poverty But mock my words when I say my heart will not exist unless my destiny comes through and puts an end 2 all of this. And I went to famous executives who boss the work of thousands of men. They all shook their heads and gave me a smile as though I was trying to fool with them And then one Sunday afternoon I wandered out along the Desplaines river And I saw a crowd of Hungarians under the trees with their women and children and a keg of beer and an accordion.
Hope is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul, And sings the tune without the words, And never stops at all. And sweetest in the gale is heard; And sore must be the storm That could abash the little bird That kept so many warm. Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.
It is our light, not our darkness That most frightens us. We ask ourselves Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God.
Your playing small Does not serve the world.Rabindranath Tagore  was considered the greatest writer in modern Indian literature. Tagore was awarded a knighthood inbut he surrendered it in in protest against the Massacre at Amritsar, where British troops killed around Indian demonstrators. Tagore gained a reputation in the West as a mystic originally and that has perhaps mislead many Western readers to ignore his role as a reformer and critic of colonialism.
Add to list. Freedom Freedom from fear is the freedom I claim for you my motherland! Freedom from the burden of the ages, bending your head, breaking your back, blinding your eyes to the beckoning call of the future; Freedom from the shackles of slumber wherewith you fasten yourself in night's stillness, mistrusting the star that speaks of truth's adventurous paths; freedom from the anarchy of destiny whole sails are weakly yielded to the blind uncertain winds, and the helm to a hand ever rigid and cold as death.
Freedom from the insult of dwelling in a puppet's world, where movements are started through brainless wires, repeated through mindless habits, where figures wait with patience and obedience for the master of show, to be stirred into a mimicry of life. Emery - kudos Enjoyed it. Khrystyna - Message can speak also for an individual person Ultimately, ultimately, though, our freedoms are all relative.
Yet crucial, yes. VerasPen - This reads like the Trump Administration! Inspired me. Jawahar Gupta - where figures wait with patience and obedience for the master of show, to be stirred into a mimicry of life. U F O - For remembering this poem again after a long time thx Amazing. Ericdixon - this is one of the best poems I've ever read. Ankap - Does anyone know when this was written???
Some Learner - And that is the real freedom, indeed. RedDagger - no idea Elanie Ellis - I love Tagore's work. Sandeep Jain - How nicely the poet has used metaphors to drscribe the shackles of slavery. I liked it very much. Loved it! This is an excellent piece, full of beauty and nuances. Great writer, will definitely read more! The insight of poem is wonderful. I thank my English teacher Mrs. Adhilakshmi for explaining the poem's meaning so beautifully to usAnd an orator said, "Speak to us of Freedom.
Ay, in the grove of the temple and in the shadow of the citadel I have seen the freest among you wear their freedom as a yoke and a handcuff. And my heart bled within me; for you can only be free when even the desire of seeking freedom becomes a harness to you, and when you cease to speak of freedom as a goal and a fulfillment.
You shall be free indeed when your days are not without a care nor your nights without a want and a grief, But rather when these things girdle your life and yet you rise above them naked and unbound. And how shall you rise beyond your days and nights unless you break the chains which you at the dawn of your understanding have fastened around your noon hour?
In truth that which you call freedom is the strongest of these chains, though its links glitter in the sun and dazzle the eyes. And what is it but fragments of your own self you would discard that you may become free? If it is an unjust law you would abolish, that law was written with your own hand upon your own forehead. You cannot erase it by burning your law books nor by washing the foreheads of your judges, though you pour the sea upon them.
And if it is a despot you would dethrone, see first that his throne erected within you is destroyed. For how can a tyrant rule the free and the proud, but for a tyranny in their own freedom and a shame in their won pride? And if it is a care you would cast off, that care has been chosen by you rather than imposed upon you. And if it is a fear you would dispel, the seat of that fear is in your heart and not in the hand of the feared.
Verily all things move within your being in constant half embrace, the desired and the dreaded, the repugnant and the cherished, the pursued and that which you would escape. These things move within you as lights and shadows in pairs that cling. And when the shadow fades and is no more, the light that lingers becomes a shadow to another light. And thus your freedom when it loses its fetters becomes itself the fetter of a greater freedom. Report Reply. O captain my captain Report Reply.
Comment refresh dabb lolllll xd Report Reply. Me name Jeff and I like poems Report Reply. O hullo there just wondering does your poem make actual sense to anybody on the planet?
Add a comment. Good job freedom fighter. Freedom, as every schoolboy knows, Once shrieked as Kosciusko fell; On every wind, indeed, that blows I hear her yell.Trolleys were piled high with anthologies and grown men fought over the last haiku. Why so many; and for whom? The only words left on a leaflet torn upon the floor were Wash your hands.
Stay indoors. I stepped out of my house, the sky cracking its words of wonder, hoping to build a new poem in the doorway of the church, but the blue light flashed and I was ordered to Turn again. Bitter bells for the aching whose wounds could not be nursed, the sky cracked its words of wonder. From the window I gazed upon the light of freedom crashing, trapped by no track of hours.
Famous Short Freedom Poems
Love is wild There's nothing domesticated about the blood in my veins, there nothing tame about the sun we see rise. Even a gentle love is always wild, and the graceful bird still in chaos flies.
Learn commenting. I wrote this poem on Saturday, April 11th, Thomas W. Love is the Victor I'm a stallion, and she rides me into the evening as we eat peaches and pomegranates and let the juice glisten on our faces in God's glorious setting sun. Gray Tired and twisted broken and listless another day in prison pisses me off. Last night was Christmas, and I miss my kids so much, It feels like I've been shanked.
I sell my desserts for coffee. My one luxury in the joint. The complexion of my day is gray, and lonely as a tea bag in the ocean. Everything is gray: The sky the weights the walls the blood the food the fence The mood, the soul, the yard, the heart and the beat of the false dawn.
It's all tombstone gray. Hate thickens the air. Bitter bells in a fine summer's morn for every hung up person in the whole wide universe In the greed of that year scared people bought up all the poetry, the epics, the sonnets and rondels. Inbox x.Short Freedom Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Freedom by PoetrySoup poets.
Search short poems about Freedom by length and keyword. You have an ad blocker! We understand, but PoetrySoup is a small privately owned website. Our means of support comes from advertising revenue. We want to keep PoetrySoup alive, make it better, and keep it free. Please support us by disabling your ad blocker on PoetrySoup. See how to enable ads while keeping your ad blocker active.
Thank you! Member Area. Word Counter. Slavery Jesus did Not own Slaves Read More. Dead tongue talks not cries not tastes all Veni vidi, vici et tu offendo I came I saw I conquered you blundered Most feared by men not death never ghosts but freedom Dance Your body will move. Imagination No limits No walls No barriers FreedomHeaven knows how to put a proper price upon its goods; and it would be strange indeed if so celestial an article as FREEDOM should not be highly rated.
The shackles rend, your hands are free, You need no longer humb'ly bow Beneath the lash of tyranny; Go shape the molten metal now. Chains are not other than chains, Though fashioned of gold, I cry; Nor is liberty less than a boon, Though I have but a cup and a crust. Better a bed in the fields, And a man's heart, at dawn in the sky, Than a luxury great as a king's, Where a voice ever utters "Thou must! All temporal power is of God, And the magistratal, His institution, laud, To but advance creaturely happiness aubaud: Let us then affirm the Source of Liberty.
Ever agreeable to the nature and will, Of the Supreme and Guardian of all yet still Employed for our rights and freedom's thrill: Thus proves the only Source of Liberty. Though our civil joy is surely expressed Through hearth, and home, and church manifest, Yet this too shall be a nation's true test: To acknowledge the divine Source of Liberty.
O Liberty, thou child of Law, God's seal is on thy brow! O Law, her Mother first and last, God's very self art thou!
Two flowers alike, yet not alike, On the same stem that grow, Two friends who cannot live apart, Yet seem each other's foe. One, the smooth river's mirrored flow Which decks the world with green; And one, the bank of sturdy rock Which hems the river in.
For, dear to me is the revelry Of a free and fearless Liberty.
I build my nest on the mountain's crest, Where the wild winds rock my eaglets to rest, Where the lightnings flash, and the thunders crash, And the roaring torrents foam and dash; For my spirit free henceforth shall be A type of the sons of Liberty. Away I spring with a tireless wing, On a feathery cloud I poise and swing; I dart down the steep where the lightnings leap, And the clear blue canopy swiftly sweep; For, dear to me is the revelry Of a free and fearless Liberty.
I love the land where the mountains stand, Like the watch-towers high of a Patriot band; For I may not bide in my glory and pride, Though the land be never so fair and wide, Where Luxury reigns o'er voluptuous plains, And fetters the free-born soul in chains.
Then give to me in my flights to see The land of the pilgrims ever free! And I never will rove from the haunts I love But watch, from my sentinel-track above, Your banner free, o'er land and sea, And exult in your glorious Liberty.
O, guard ye well the land where I dwell, Lest to future times the tale I tell, When slow expires in smoldering fires The goodly heritage of your sires, How Freedom's light rose clear and bright O'er fair Columbia's beacon-hight, Till ye quenched the flame in a starless night. Then will I tear from your pennon fair The stars ye have set in triumph there; My olive-branch on the blast I'll launch, The fluttering stripes from the flagstaff wrench, And away I'll flee; for I scorn to see A craven race in the land of the free!
The maid who binds her warrior's sash, And, smiling, all her pain dissembles, The while beneath the drooping lash, One starry tear-drop hangs and trembles; Though Heaven alone records the tear, And fame shall never know her story, Her heart has shed a drop as dear As ever dewed the field of glory! The wife who girds her husband's sword, 'Mid little ones who weep and wonder, And bravely speaks the cheering word, What though her heart be rent asunder;— Doomed nightly in her dreams to hear The bolts of war around him rattle,— Has shed as sacred blood as e'er Was poured upon the field of battle!
The mother who conceals her grief, While to her breast her son she presses, Then breathes a few brave words and brief, Kissing the patriot brow she blesses; With no one but her loving God, To know the pain that weighs upon her, Sheds holy blood as e'er the sod Received on Freedom's field of honor!
Democracy means more than empty letters, And Liberty far more than partly free; Yet, both are void as long as men, in fetters, Are at eclipse with Opportunity. Triumphant Sable Heroes homeward turning, Arrayed in medals, bright, and half-healed scars, Has service, life, and limb been given earning Trophies, issued at the hand of Mars?
If your sole gain has been these "marks of battle," If valient deeds insure no greater claim, If you are still to be the herder's cattle, Then ill spilt blood fell short of Freedom's aim. No rack can torture me, My soul's at liberty Behind this mortal bone There knits a bolder one. You cannot prick with saw, Nor rend with scymitar. Two bodies therefore be; Bind one, and one will flee. The eagle of his nest No easier divest And gain the sky, Than mayest thou. Except thyself may be Thine enemy; Captivity is consciousness, So's liberty.
He danced along the dingy days, And this bequest of wings Was but a book. What liberty A loosened spirit brings!A short poem may be a stylistic choice or it may be that you have said what you intended to say in a more concise way.
Either way, they differ stylistically from a long poem in that there tends to be more care in word choice. Since there are fewer words people tend to spend more time on choosing a word that fits the subject to perfection.
Because of this meticulous attitude, writing a short poem is often more tedious than writing a long poem. In all chaotic beauty lies a wounded work of art. Beautiful but torn, wreaking havoc on my heart. Camouflaged by insecurities, blinded by it all. I love the way you sit there and barely notice me at all. With death being the only certainty of life, life is just a bit too short for regrets. Let's live while we're alive. Let's love while we're alive. Let's live and not just survive.
Nature's first green is gold, Her hardest hue to hold. Her early leaf's a flower; But only so an hour. Read Complete Poem.
Someday you will cry for me Like I cried for you. Someday you'll miss me Like I missed you. This poem says it all. You have said what is in my heart.
Tiny little secrets Get buried in the dirt, And if they were dug up, Someone would probably get hurt. Read complete story. I come with no wrapping or pretty pink bows. I am who I am, from my head to my toes. I tend to get loud when speaking my mind. Even a little crazy some of the time.Freedom - Spoken Word Poetry
I love this poem! People are always trying to fit in and be normal.