Poems begining by L
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ley ke koi khabar nhi aata
© AsterGayavi
ley ke koi khabar nhi aata
Ab to qaasid idhar nhi aata
Lot aany ka waadah karte hyn,
Living with myself
© KateZ
So alone my dear life
looking for error in my mind
no problem, only loneliness
but why so sad?
Like A Scarf
© James Tate
The directions to the lunatic asylum were confusing,
more likely they were the random associations
Lines to an Indian Air
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
I ARISE from dreams of thee
In the first sweet sleep of night,
Liberty Needs Glasses
© Tupac Shakur
excuse me but lady liberty needs glasses
and so does mrs justice by her side
Living In Sin
© Adrienne Rich
She had thought the studio would keep itself;
no dust upon the furniture of love.
Lion and Honeycomb
© Howard Nemerov
He asked himself, poor moron, because he had
Nobody else to ask. The others went right on
Talking about form, talking about myth
And the (so help us) need for a modern idiom;
The verseballs among them kept counting syllables.
Lucifer in Starlight
© George Meredith
On a starred night Prince Lucifer uprose.
Tired of his dark dominion swung the fiend
Lyman King
© Edgar Lee Masters
You may think, passer-by, that Fate
Is a pit-fall outside of yourself,
Lambert Hutchins
© Edgar Lee Masters
I have two monuments besides this granite obelisk:
One, the house I built on the hill,
Longing
© Mihai Eminescu
Come to the forest spring where wavelets
Trembling o'er the pebbles glide
And the drooping willow branches
Its secluded threshold hide.
Litanies of the Rose
© Rémy De Gourmont
Rose with dark eyes,
mirror of your nothingness,
rose with dark eyes,
make us believe in the mystery,
hypocrite flower,
flower of silence.
Low Tide on Grand Pré
© Bliss William Carman
A grievous stream, that to and fro
Athrough the fields of Acadie
Goes wandering, as if to know
Why one beloved face should be
So long from home and Acadie.
Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey, On Revisiting the Banks of the Wye during a Tour. July 13, 1798
© William Wordsworth
Five years have past; five summers, with the lengthOf five long winters! and again I hearThese waters, rolling from their mountain-springsWith a soft inland murmur
Love and Fame and Death
© Charles Bukowski
the way to end a poem
like this
is to become suddenly
quiet.
