Example of Short Poems

Literature / by admin / July 04, 2021

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The poems They are artistic compositions generally written in verse that make up one of the great literary genres, poetry, and whose main characteristic is the search for aesthetics, art or beauty through the word. The term poem It comes from the Latin poem that refers to the result of an action, to something that is done. Thus, the etymology refers to the essential of a poem: its character of creation or artistic realization.

One of the main characteristics of the poems is the subjectivity and the exaltation of language. In a poem the writer expresses elements of his subjectivity, of his reality, of his thoughts, ideas, feelings, visions and conceptions and seeks to express them from an artistic use of the language.

The poems make use of stylistic devices called figures of speech; its function is to embellish the poem and make an original and artistic use of the language, which goes beyond the literal sense and the everyday use of language. For example, metaphors, analogies, comparisons, hyperbole, hyperbaton, prosopopoeia, among many other stylistic devices are used.

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In addition, to beautify language, rhythm and rhyme have been used throughout the history of poetry.. The rhythm consists of giving the poem a certain speed from the use of punctuation or the arrangement and choice of words. As for rhyme, it consists of the repetition of certain sounds that give the poem a sound.

The length of a poem is usually very varied. There are poetic compositions that by themselves can be a whole book; on the other hand, there are short poems that can even be a couple of verses.

40 examples of short poems:

"Cowardice" by Amado Nervo
She happened to her mother. What rare beauty!
What blond garzul wheat hair!
What a rhythm in step! What innate royalty
sport! What shapes under the fine tulle...
She happened to her mother. She turned her head:
Her blue gaze stared deep into me!
I was ecstatic... With feverish haste,
“Follow her!” Body and soul shouted alike.
... But I was afraid to love madly,
to open my wounds, which usually bleed,
And despite all my thirst for tenderness,
closing my eyes, I let her pass!
"Complaint" by Alfonsina Storni
Lord, my complaint is this,
You will understand me;
I'm dying of love
But I can't love
I chase the perfect
In me and in others,
I chase the perfect
To be able to love.
I consume myself in my fire
Lord, mercy, mercy!
I'm dying of love
But I can't love!
"Paz" by Alfonsina Storni
Let's go to the trees... the dream
It will be done in us by heavenly virtue.
We go towards the trees; the night
We will be soft, mild sadness.
We go to the trees, the soul
Sleepy with wild perfume.
But be quiet, do not speak, be pious;
Don't wake up the sleeping birds.
"Campo" by Antonio Machado
The afternoon is dying
like a humble home that is turned off.
There, on the mountains,
some embers remain.
And that broken tree on the white road
makes you cry with pity.
Two branches on the wounded trunk, and one
withered black leaf on every branch!
Do you cry... Among the golden poplars,
far away, the shadow of love awaits you.
"To the deserted square" by Antonio Machado
To the deserted square
drive a maze of alleys.
To one side, the old gloomy wall
of a dilapidated church;
on the other side, the whitish wall
of an orchard of cypresses and palm trees,
and, in front of me, the house,
and in her house the fence
before the glass that slightly tarnishes
the placid and smiling figurine of her.
I will step aside. I do not want
knock on your window... Spring
Is your white dress coming?
floats in the air of the dead square?;
comes to light the roses
red of your rose bushes... I want to see...
"Dawn of Autumn" by Antonio Machado
A long road
between gray crags,
and some humble meadow
where black bulls graze. Brambles, weeds, jarales.
The earth is wet
by the dew drops,
and the golden avenue,
towards the bend of the river.
Behind the mountains of violet
broken the first dawn:
the shotgun on the back,
among the sharp greyhounds of him, walking a hunter.
"Daydream" by José Martí
I dream with the eyes
Open, and during the day
And night I always dream.
And about the foams
From the wide rough sea,
And through the curls
Desert sands
And of the mighty lion,
Monarch of my chest,
Happily mounted
On the submissive neck,
A child who calls me
Floating I always see.
"When I started to think" by José Martí:
When I started to think
The reason gave me to choose
Between being who I am, or going
Being a stranger to borrowing,
But I said to myself: if copying
Out of law, he would not be born
Any man, then I would
What has been done before him:
And I said, calling to the chest,
I know who you are, my soul!
“Crin hirsuta” by José Martí
What like shaggy mane of frightened
Horse that looks on the dry logs
Claws and teeth of a tremendous wolf,
My shattered verse rises???
Yes; But she gets up! The way
Like when the dagger plunges into the neck
From the beef, a thread of blood rises to heaven:
Only love begets melodies.
"Como el granado" by Ricardo Yáñez
Like pomegranate
with their grenades
you with you
talking.

"El aleteo" by Ricardo Yáñez
Flapping
of the thistle flower
between thorns
of wind
Bertolt Brecht's "Weaknesses"
You didn't have any
I only one,
that he loved.
"The Cut Rope" by Bertolt Brecht
The severed rope can be re-knotted,
she puts up with it again, but
she is cut off.
We may stumble again, but there
where did you leave me no
you will find me again.
"Epitaph" by Bertolt Brecht
I escaped from the tigers
I fed the bed bugs
eaten alive I went
for mediocrities.
"Word" by Cristina Peri Rossi
Reading the dictionary
I have found a new word:
with pleasure, with sarcasm I pronounce it;
I touch it, I word it, I cover it, I trace it, I pulse it,
I say her, I lock her up, I love her, I touch her with my fingertips,
I take the weight, wet it, warm it between my hands,
I caress her, I tell her things, I surround her, I corner her,
I stick a pin in it, I fill it with foam,
later, like a whore,
I miss her from home.
"Prayer" by Cristina Peri Rossi
Deliver us, Lord,
to meet,
years later,
with our great loves.
"Dedication" by Cristina Peri Rossi
Literature separated us: everything I knew about you
I learned it in the books
and what was missing,
I put words to it.
"R.I.P." by Cristina Peri Rossi
That love died
succumbed
is dead
annihilated deceased
settled
deceased perished
obliterated
dead
buried
then,
Why is it still beating?
“Oír a Bach” by Cristina Peri Rossi
Hear Bach
it is an insult
if they come through my door
the most diverse crimes in history
the most famous infamies
my mother's misfortune
and this love
that falls like a mirror
lying down by the wind.
"Prayer for the beauty of a girl" by Dámaso Alonso
You gave it that burning symmetry
from the lips, with the embers of your depth,
and in two enormous channels of blackness,
chasms of infinity, light of your day;
those lumps of snow, that boiled
by solivating the smoothness of the linen,
and, wonders of exact architecture,
two columns that sing your harmony.
Oh you Lord you gave her that hillside
that in a sweet blade spills,
secret honey in the gilded smoke.
What is your mighty hand waiting for?
Mortal beauty claims eternity.
Give him the eternity you have denied him!
"Litany" by Fernando Pessoa
We never realize ourselves.
We are an abyss that goes to another abyss - a well that looks to Heaven.
"The diligence passed" by Fernando Pessoa
The stagecoach passed by the road and left;
and the road did not become more beautiful, not even uglier.
So for those worlds is human action.
We take nothing and we put nothing; we pass and forget;
and the sun is always punctual, every day.
"It is perhaps the last day of my life" by Fernando Pessoa
It is maybe the last day of my life.
I have saluted the sun by raising my right hand,
but I have not greeted him saying goodbye.
I made the sign that I liked to see it before: nothing more.
"Autopsychography" by Fernando Pessoa
The poet is a fake.
He pretends so completely
that he comes to pretend that he is pain
the pain that you really feel.
And those who read what he writes,
in the pain read they feel good,
not the two that he had
but only what they don't have.
And so on the rails
he spins, entertaining reason,
that rope train
which is called the heart.
"You talk about civilization and what it shouldn't be" by Fernando Pessoa
You speak of civilization, and that it should not be,
or that it should not be so.
You say that everyone suffers, or most of everyone,
with human things for being as they are.
You say that if they were different we would suffer less.
You say that if they were as you want it would be better.
I listen to you without hearing.
Why should I want to hear?
By listening to you I would know nothing.
If things were different, they would be different: this is it.
If things were the way you want, they would be just the way you want.
Woe to you and to all those who spend their lives
wanting to invent the machine to make happiness!
"Casida de la rosa" by Federico García Lorca
The Rose
I was not looking for the dawn:
Almost eternal in your bouquet
I was looking for something else.
The Rose
I was looking for neither science nor shadow:
Confinement of flesh and dream
I was looking for something else.
The Rose
I was not looking for the rose:
Motionless across the sky
I was looking for something else!
"Casida del llonto" by Federico García Lorca
I have closed my balcony
because I don't want to hear the cry
but behind the gray walls
nothing is heard other than crying.
There are very few angels who sing
there are very few dogs that bark,
a thousand violins fit in the palm of my hand.
But crying is a huge dog
crying is an immense angel,
crying is an immense violin,
tears gag the wind
and nothing is heard other than crying.
"The moon appears" by Federico García Lorca
When the moon rises
the bells are lost
and the paths appear
impenetrable.
When the moon rises,
the sea covers the land
and the heart feels
island in infinity.
Nobody eats oranges
under the full moon
It is necessary to eat
green and frozen fruit.
When the moon rises
of a hundred equal faces,
the silver coin
sob in your pocket.
"Desvelo" by Néstor Martínez
Ghostly light
it perches on the garden
on the roof of the houses
in the height of the trees
full moon stillness
flood my room
the hasty shadows retreat
my face in the window
witness the night magic
the spell of the stars
mystery portal
open to my dreams
the night goes on
towards luminous death
that peeks out, shy,
with its rays of death...
"Mendigo" by Néstor Martínez
At every turn
I will wait for the chance
to see you among the people
and I will extend the urgent hand
to beg you
pennies of your memory
or what reaches
the generosity of your memory...
"Landscape" by Néstor Martínez
Curvy up the road
above the imposing hill
down awake the city
In front of my door
I leave my steps behind...
"Luna" by Néstor Martínez
Midnight Sun
Crucible of hearts
Smiling last quarter
Growing passions
Full of pleasures
New fire
Spokesperson for love
I look forward to your return...
"I liked that you cried" by Jaime Sabines
What soft eyes
on your skirt!
I do not know. But you had
from everywhere, long
women, black waters.
I wanted to tell you: sister.
To incest with you
roses and tears.
It hurts a lot, it's true,
all that is achieved.
It's true, it hurts
have nothing.
How beautiful you are, sadness:
when you shut up like that!
Take him out with a kiss
all the tears!
That the time, ah,
make you a statue!
"Valeriana" by Francisco Urondo
You abandon your forces
looking for nothing
instigated by a passion
hardened by discouragement
Oh my God
who could say something about our own image
thick and harsh light or shadow
little wonder
distant certainty.
"Today an oath" by Francisco Urondo
When this house,
where I have lived for years,
have
an exit, I will close
the door to keep your warmth;
I will open it
so that the winds
from everywhere, come
to wash his face;
to trace it,
that way they fly
the intentions,
the ghosts, the memories to come,
and what scares you
even though it hasn't happened yet.
"Hour after hour, day after day" by Rosalía de Castro
Hour after hour, day after day
Between heaven and earth that remain
Eternal watchers,
Like a torrent that falls
Life moves on.
Give back its perfume to the flower
After withers;
Of the waves that kiss the beach
And that one after another kissing her they expire
Pick up the rumors, the complaints,
And engrave their harmony on plates of bronze.
Times that were, tears and laughter,
Black torments, sweet lies,
Oh, where did they leave their trail,
Where, my soul?
"Orillas del sar" by Rosalía de Castro
Through the evergreen foliage
That hearing leaves strange rumors
And among a sea of undulating vegetables,
Loving mansion of birds,
From my windows I see
The temple that I loved so much.
The temple that I wanted so much ...
Well, I don't know how to say if I love him
That in the rude sway that without respite
My thoughts are stirred,
I doubt if the grim grudge
Live together with the love in my chest.
"Of hope" by Luis de Góngora
Blow rabidly conjured
Against my wood the raging Austro,
That the last groan will find me,
Instead of a table, the anchor embraced.
How much, if the marble unleashed
Deity not ungrateful hope has been
In a temple that gives candles today dressed
Is worshiped, masts kissed?
The two bright swan chickens,
From Leda children, he adopted: my entena
I testify of them illustrated.
What out of the cared, that between pitfalls,
That between mountains, that watches over the sea, of sand,
Defeated six decades ago that nothing?
"Awakening" by Gabriela Mistral
We sleep, I dreamed the Earth
of the South, I dreamed the entire Valley,
the pastal, the crepe vineyard,
and the glory of the gardens.
What did you dream my child
with such a pleasant face?
We are going to look for chañares
until we find them,
and the guillaves on
to some kiosks from hell.
The one who takes the most treats
two others who did not catch.
I don't prick my hands
of mist that were born to me.
I am not hungry, nor thirsty and
without virtue I give or give.
Why thank me like this
fruit that I take and deliver?
"Find" by Gabriela Mistral
I found this boy
when I went to the field:
I found it asleep
in some ears...
Or maybe it has been
crossing the vineyard:
when looking for a branch
I bumped her cheek ...
And that's why I fear
when falling asleep,
evaporate like
the frost on the vines ...

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