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A selection of random funny poems from our vast
collection of 100000 poems by famous and less famous
poets - enjoy! short anniversary poems and other poetry
Think Of The Soul by Walt Whitman
Think of the Soul;
I swear to you that body of yours gives proportions to your Soul
somehow to live in other spheres;
I do not know how, but I know it is so.
Think of loving and being loved;
I swear to you, whoever you are, you can interfuse yourself with such
things that everybody that sees you shall look longingly upon
you.
Think of the past;
I warn you that in a little while others will find their past in you
and your times.
The race is never separated--nor man nor woman escapes;
All is inextricable--things, spirits, Nature, nations, you too--from
precedents you come.
Recall the ever-welcome defiers, (The mothers precede them;)
Recall the sages, poets, saviors, inventors, lawgivers, of the earth;
Recall Christ, brother of rejected persons--brother of slaves,
felons, idiots, and of insane and diseas'd persons.
Think of the time when you were not yet born;
Think of times you stood at the side of the dying;
Think of the time when your own body will be dying.
Think of spiritual results,
Sure as the earth swims through the heavens, does every one of its
objects pass into spiritual results.
Think of manhood, and you to be a man;
Do you count manhood, and the sweet of manhood, nothing?
Think of womanhood, and you to be a woman;
The creation is womanhood;
Have I not said that womanhood involves all?
Have I not told how the universe has nothing better than the best
womanhood?
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Hast Never Come To Thee An Hour by Walt Whitman
Hast never come to thee an hour,
A sudden gleam divine, precipitating, bursting all these bubbles,
fashions, wealth?
These eager business aims--books, politics, art, amours,
To utter nothingness?
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There was an Old Man of Vienna by Edward Lear
There was an Old Man of Vienna,
Who lived upon Tincture of Senna;
When that did not agree,
He took Camomile Tea,
That nasty Old Man of Vienna.
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Still, Though The One I Sing by Walt Whitman
Still, though the one I sing,
(One, yet of contradictions made,) I dedicate to Nationality,
I leave in him Revolt, (O latent right of insurrection! O quenchless,
indispensable fire!)
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