Example of a simple to understand, but thought provoking poem?

[ze_better]

And it would be better if it's short.

Thanks in advance.

[MarkBastable]

Celia Celia

When I am sad and weary,
When I think all hope has gone,
When I walk along High Holborn
I think of you with nothing on.

Adrian Mitchell


Odi et Amo

Odi et amo. quare id faciam, fortasse requiris?
nescio, sed fieri sentio et excrucior.


I love and I hate. You might ask - how do you do that?
I don't know. But I feel it - and it rips me apart.

Catullus


My Daddy

I have a funny daddy
Who goes in and out with me
And everything that baby does
My daddy’s sure to see,
And everything that baby says,
My daddy’s sure to tell.
You must have read my daddy’s verse.
I hope he fries in hell.

Ogden Nash

[DocHeart]

This be the verse

By Philip Larkin



They fukc you up, your mum and dad
They may not mean to, but they do;
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.

But they were fukced up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another's throats.

Man hands on misery to man;
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can
And don't have any kids yourself.

(High Windows, 1974)

[Fafnir]

Digging - Seamus Heaney


Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests; as snug as a gun.

Under my window a clean rasping sound
When the spade sinks into gravelly ground:
My father, digging. I look down

Till his straining rump among the flowerbeds
Bends low, comes up twenty years away
Stooping in rhythm through potato drills
Where he was digging.

The coarse boot nestled on the lug, the shaft
Against the inside knee was levered firmly.
He rooted out tall tops, buried the bright edge deep
To scatter new potatoes that we picked
Loving their cool hardness in our hands.

By God, the old man could handle a spade,
Just like his old man.

My grandfather could cut more turf in a day
Than any other man on Toner's bog.
Once I carried him milk in a bottle
Corked sloppily with paper. He straightened up
To drink it, then fell to right away
Nicking and slicing neatly, heaving sods
Over his shoulder, digging down and down
For the good turf. Digging.

The cold smell of potato mold, the squelch and slap
Of soggy peat, the curt cuts of an edge
Through living roots awaken in my head.
But I've no spade to follow men like them.

Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests.
I'll dig with it.

[AjaxAscendant]

The Noble Nature

Ben Jonson (1573–1637)


IT is not growing like a tree
In bulk, doth make Man better be;
Or standing long an oak, three hundred year,
To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere:
A lily of a day
Is fairer far in May,
Although it fall and die that night—
It was the plant and flower of Light
In small proportions we just beauties see;
And in short measures life may perfect be.

[cacian]

The Noble Nature

Ben Jonson (1573–1637)


IT is not growing like a tree
In bulk, doth make Man better be;
Or standing long an oak, three hundred year,
To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere:
A lily of a day
Is fairer far in May,
Although it fall and die that night—
It was the plant and flower of Light
In small proportions we just beauties see;
And in short measures life may perfect be.

Thought provoking?
I cannot see it.

[BobbyIce]

Nothing Gold Can Stay


Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

Robert Frost, I'd check out some more of his too. He specializes in profundity in simplicity.

[tailor STATELY]

The Red Wheelbarrow

so much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens.

-William Carlos Williams