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Free Daily Poems - Free Daily Poetry


Poetry and poems are present across different cultures and languages. Poetry and Poems are often difficult to categorise. Many poems have hidden meanings and yet some people are happy to enjoy the "surface reading" of poems. Whatever your views on poetry and poems I hope you enjoy this site. The site comprises over 8000 poems exhibiting a collection of free poems, odes, verses and sonnets ranging across the spectrum of themes from Funny poems and Love poems to War poems and Sad poems, including Mothers day poems and Wedding poetry. Should you wish to contribute your own poetry, poetry from friends or even famous poems that you have enjoyed by other poetry writers then please register and contribute.

Below you will find a completely random free poem from our free poems collection that will change each time you load the page. The random free poem of the day and random poet of the day will, unsurprisingly, change each day.


RANDOM FREE POEM OF THE MOMENT.

Poem title:  Meeting among Mountains
   
Poem category:  Nature Poems
   
Poets name:  D.H. Lawrence
   
Poet Biography:  D.H. Lawrence (1885-1930), was an English novelist, storywriter (for which he is perhaps most famous), critic, poet and painter.
   
Poem:  The little pansies by the road have turned
Away their purple faces and their gold,
And evening has taken all the bees from the thyme,
And all the scent is shed away by the cold.

Against the hard and pale blue evening sky
The mountain's new-dropped summer snow is clear
Glistening in steadfast stillness: like transcendent
Clean pain sending on us a chill down here.

Chirst on the Cross! -- his beautiful young man's body
Has fallen dead upon the nails, and hangs
White and loose at last, with all the pain
Drawn on his mouth, eyes broken at last by his pangs.

And slowly down the mountain road, belated,
A bullock wagon comes; so I am ashamed
To gaze any more at the Christ, whom the mountain snows
Whitely confront; I wait on the grass, am lamed.

The breath of the bullock stains the hard, chill air,
The band is across its brow, and it scarcely seems
To draw the load, so still and slow it moves,
While the driver on the shaft sits crouched in dreams.

Surely about his sunburnt face is something
That vexes me with wonder. He sits so still
Here among all this silence, crouching forward,
Dreaming and letting the bullock take its will.

I stand aside on the grass to let them go;
-- And Christ, I have met his accusing eyes again,
The brown eyes black with misery and hate, that look
Full in my own, and the torment starts again.

One moment the hate leaps at me standing there,
One moment I see the stillness of agony,
Something frozen in the silence that dare not be
Loosed, one moment the darkness frightens me.

Then among the averted pansies, beneath the high
White peaks of snow, at the foot of the sunken Christ
I stand in a chill of anguish, trying to say
The joy I bought was not too highly priced.

But he has gone, motionless, hating me,
Living as the mountains do, because they are strong,
With a pale, dead Christ on the crucifix of his heart,
And breathing the frozen memory of his wrong.

Still in his nostrils the frozen breath of despair,
And heart like a cross that bears dead agony
Of naked love, clenched in his fists the shame,
And in his belly the smouldering hate of me.

And I, as I stand in the cold, averted flowers,
Feel the shame-wounds in his hands pierce through my own,
And breathe despair that turns my lungs to stone
And know the dead Christ weighing on my bone.

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