My Favorite Poems

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• "The Tuft of Flowers" by Robert Frost Visit Robert Frost's Page Read Poem

  I went to turn the grass once after one
  Who mowed it in the dew before the sun.
  
  The dew was gone that made his blade so keen
  Before I came to view the levelled scene.
  
  I looked for him behind an isle of trees;
  I listened for his whetstone on the breeze.
  
  But he had gone his way, the grass all mown,
  And I must be, as he had been,—alone,
  
  ‘As all must be,’ I said within my heart,
  ‘Whether they work together or apart.
  
  ’
  
  But as I said it, swift there passed me by
  On noiseless wing a ‘wildered butterfly,
  
  Seeking with memories grown dim o’er night
  Some resting flower of yesterday’s delight.
  
  And once I marked his flight go round and round,
  As where some flower lay withering on the ground.
  
  And then he flew as far as eye could see,
  And then on tremulous wing came back to me.
  
  I thought of questions that have no reply,
  And would have turned to toss the grass to dry;
  
  But he turned first, and led my eye to look
  At a tall tuft of flowers beside a brook,
  
  A leaping tongue of bloom the scythe had spared
  Beside a reedy brook the scythe had bared.
  
  I left my place to know them by their name,
  Finding them butterfly weed when I came.
  
  The mower in the dew had loved them thus,
  By leaving them to flourish, not for us,
  
  Nor yet to draw one thought of ours to him.
  
  But from sheer morning gladness at the brim.
  
  The butterfly and I had lit upon,
  Nevertheless, a message from the dawn,
  
  That made me hear the wakening birds around,
  And hear his long scythe whispering to the ground,
  
  And feel a spirit kindred to my own;
  So that henceforth I worked no more alone;
  
  But glad with him, I worked as with his aid,
  And weary, sought at noon with him the shade;
  
  And dreaming, as it were, held brotherly speech
  With one whose thought I had not hoped to reach.
  
  ‘Men work together,’ I told him from the heart,
  ‘Whether they work together or apart.
  
  ’

• "A Minor Bird, by Robert Frost" by Robert Frost Visit Robert Frost's Page Read Poem

  I have wished a bird would fly away,
  And not sing by my house all day;
  Have clapped my hands at him from the door
  When it seemed as if I could bear no more.
  
  The fault must partly have been in me.
  
  The bird was not to blame for his key.
  
  And of course there must be something wrong
  In wanting to silence any song.
  
  Let all voices be heard.

• "100,000 Pennies" by Shel Silverstein Visit Shel Silverstein's Page Read Poem

  I broke into the bank on Sunday,
  You should see the money I got.
  
  I couldn't drag it home 'til Monday,
  'Cause it sure weighed an awful lot.
  
  Then I sat down to count it,
  And much to my surprise,
  A whole lotta little brown, little round coins,
  Rolled out before my eyes
  Chorus:
  I've got a hundred thousand dollars worth of pennies,
  Not a solitary dollar or a dime,
  And I don't believe there's many,
  Rich men with a problem like mine.
  
  And I don't think this is any
  Kind of ending to a perfect crime.
  
  I've got a hundred thousand dollars worth of pennies,
  And I'm spendin' it a penny at a time!
  Now a steak sure would taste delicious,
  And I've forgot how a beer would feel,
  But the man just might get suspicious,
  If I gave him eight hundred pennies for a meal.
  
  So I guess I'll just weigh myself again,
  And buy me another stick of gum,
  I've got a hundred thousand dollars worth of pennies, Lord!
  And I'm livin' like a penniless bum!
  Chorus:
  I've got a hundred thousand dollars worth of pennies,
  Not a solitary dollar or a dime,
  And I don't believe there's many,
  Rich men with a problem like mine.

• "Enter This Deserted House" by Shel Silverstein Visit Shel Silverstein's Page Read Poem

  But please walk softly as you do.
  
  Frogs dwell here and crickets too.
  
  Ain't no ceiling, only blue.
  
  Jays dwell here and sunbeams too.
  
  Floors are flowers - take a few
  Ferns grow here and daisies too.
  
  Swoosh, whoosh - too-whit, too-woo
  Bats dwell here and hoot owls too.
  
  Ha-ha-ha, hee-hee, hoo-hoooo,
  Gnomes dwell here and goblins too.
  
  And my child, I thought you knew
  I dwell here… and so do you

• "Where The Sidewalk Ends" by Shel Silverstein Visit Shel Silverstein's Page Read Poem

  There is a place where the sidewalk ends
  and before the street begins,
  and there the grass grows soft and white,
  and there the sun burns crimson bright,
  and there the moon-bird rests from his flight
  to cool in the peppermint wind.
  
  Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
  and the dark street winds and bends.
  
  Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
  we shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow
  and watch where the chalk-white arrows go
  to the place where the sidewalk ends.
  
  Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
  and we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
  for the children, they mark, and the children, they know,
  the place where the sidewalk ends.

• "They've Put A Brassiere On A Camel" by Shel Silverstein Visit Shel Silverstein's Page Read Poem

  They've put a brassiere on a camel,
  She wasn't dressed proper, you know.
  
  They've put a brassiere on a camel,
  So that her humps wouldn't show.
  
  And they're making other respectable plans,
  They're even even insisting the pigs should wear pants,
  They'll dress up the ducks if we give them the chance
  Since they've put a brassiere on a camel.
  
  They've put a brassiere on a camel,
  They claim she's more decent that way.
  
  They've put a brassiere on a camel,
  The camel had nothing to say.
  
  They squeezed her into it, i'll never know how,
  They say that she looks more respectable now,
  Lord knows what they've got in mind for the cow,
  Since they've put a brassiere on a camel.

• "Woulda-Coulda-Shoulda" by Shel Silverstein Visit Shel Silverstein's Page Read Poem

  All the Woulda-Coulda-Shouldas
  Layin' in the sun,
  Talkin' 'bout the things
  They woulda coulda shoulda done.
  
  .
  
  .
  
  But those Woulda-Coulda-Shouldas
  All ran away and hid
  From one little Did.

• "The Tuft of Flowers" by Robert Frost Visit Robert Frost's Page Read Poem

  I went to turn the grass once after one
  Who mowed it in the dew before the sun.
  
  The dew was gone that made his blade so keen
  Before I came to view the levelled scene.
  
  I looked for him behind an isle of trees;
  I listened for his whetstone on the breeze.
  
  But he had gone his way, the grass all mown,
  And I must be, as he had been,—alone,
  
  ‘As all must be,’ I said within my heart,
  ‘Whether they work together or apart.
  
  ’
  
  But as I said it, swift there passed me by
  On noiseless wing a ‘wildered butterfly,
  
  Seeking with memories grown dim o’er night
  Some resting flower of yesterday’s delight.
  
  And once I marked his flight go round and round,
  As where some flower lay withering on the ground.
  
  And then he flew as far as eye could see,
  And then on tremulous wing came back to me.
  
  I thought of questions that have no reply,
  And would have turned to toss the grass to dry;
  
  But he turned first, and led my eye to look
  At a tall tuft of flowers beside a brook,
  
  A leaping tongue of bloom the scythe had spared
  Beside a reedy brook the scythe had bared.
  
  I left my place to know them by their name,
  Finding them butterfly weed when I came.
  
  The mower in the dew had loved them thus,
  By leaving them to flourish, not for us,
  
  Nor yet to draw one thought of ours to him.
  
  But from sheer morning gladness at the brim.
  
  The butterfly and I had lit upon,
  Nevertheless, a message from the dawn,
  
  That made me hear the wakening birds around,
  And hear his long scythe whispering to the ground,
  
  And feel a spirit kindred to my own;
  So that henceforth I worked no more alone;
  
  But glad with him, I worked as with his aid,
  And weary, sought at noon with him the shade;
  
  And dreaming, as it were, held brotherly speech
  With one whose thought I had not hoped to reach.
  
  ‘Men work together,’ I told him from the heart,
  ‘Whether they work together or apart.
  
  ’

• "A Minor Bird, by Robert Frost" by Robert Frost Visit Robert Frost's Page Read Poem

  I have wished a bird would fly away,
  And not sing by my house all day;
  Have clapped my hands at him from the door
  When it seemed as if I could bear no more.
  
  The fault must partly have been in me.
  
  The bird was not to blame for his key.
  
  And of course there must be something wrong
  In wanting to silence any song.
  
  Let all voices be heard.

• "100,000 Pennies" by Shel Silverstein Visit Shel Silverstein's Page Read Poem

  I broke into the bank on Sunday,
  You should see the money I got.
  
  I couldn't drag it home 'til Monday,
  'Cause it sure weighed an awful lot.
  
  Then I sat down to count it,
  And much to my surprise,
  A whole lotta little brown, little round coins,
  Rolled out before my eyes
  Chorus:
  I've got a hundred thousand dollars worth of pennies,
  Not a solitary dollar or a dime,
  And I don't believe there's many,
  Rich men with a problem like mine.
  
  And I don't think this is any
  Kind of ending to a perfect crime.
  
  I've got a hundred thousand dollars worth of pennies,
  And I'm spendin' it a penny at a time!
  Now a steak sure would taste delicious,
  And I've forgot how a beer would feel,
  But the man just might get suspicious,
  If I gave him eight hundred pennies for a meal.
  
  So I guess I'll just weigh myself again,
  And buy me another stick of gum,
  I've got a hundred thousand dollars worth of pennies, Lord!
  And I'm livin' like a penniless bum!
  Chorus:
  I've got a hundred thousand dollars worth of pennies,
  Not a solitary dollar or a dime,
  And I don't believe there's many,
  Rich men with a problem like mine.

• "Enter This Deserted House" by Shel Silverstein Visit Shel Silverstein's Page Read Poem

  But please walk softly as you do.
  
  Frogs dwell here and crickets too.
  
  Ain't no ceiling, only blue.
  
  Jays dwell here and sunbeams too.
  
  Floors are flowers - take a few
  Ferns grow here and daisies too.
  
  Swoosh, whoosh - too-whit, too-woo
  Bats dwell here and hoot owls too.
  
  Ha-ha-ha, hee-hee, hoo-hoooo,
  Gnomes dwell here and goblins too.
  
  And my child, I thought you knew
  I dwell here… and so do you

• "Where The Sidewalk Ends" by Shel Silverstein Visit Shel Silverstein's Page Read Poem

  There is a place where the sidewalk ends
  and before the street begins,
  and there the grass grows soft and white,
  and there the sun burns crimson bright,
  and there the moon-bird rests from his flight
  to cool in the peppermint wind.
  
  Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
  and the dark street winds and bends.
  
  Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
  we shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow
  and watch where the chalk-white arrows go
  to the place where the sidewalk ends.
  
  Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
  and we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
  for the children, they mark, and the children, they know,
  the place where the sidewalk ends.

• "They've Put A Brassiere On A Camel" by Shel Silverstein Visit Shel Silverstein's Page Read Poem

  They've put a brassiere on a camel,
  She wasn't dressed proper, you know.
  
  They've put a brassiere on a camel,
  So that her humps wouldn't show.
  
  And they're making other respectable plans,
  They're even even insisting the pigs should wear pants,
  They'll dress up the ducks if we give them the chance
  Since they've put a brassiere on a camel.
  
  They've put a brassiere on a camel,
  They claim she's more decent that way.
  
  They've put a brassiere on a camel,
  The camel had nothing to say.
  
  They squeezed her into it, i'll never know how,
  They say that she looks more respectable now,
  Lord knows what they've got in mind for the cow,
  Since they've put a brassiere on a camel.

• "Woulda-Coulda-Shoulda" by Shel Silverstein Visit Shel Silverstein's Page Read Poem

  All the Woulda-Coulda-Shouldas
  Layin' in the sun,
  Talkin' 'bout the things
  They woulda coulda shoulda done.
  
  .
  
  .
  
  But those Woulda-Coulda-Shouldas
  All ran away and hid
  From one little Did.

My Poems

• The Rope

  For Those That Feel Like They've Been Lost

• I Remember

  A Letter to a Scared Child

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