<p><strong>All The World’s A Stage By-William Shakespeare </strong></p>

All time famous poem in my poetrylead collection

<p><span>by Kristina Louisa Carr </span> </p><p>A kaleidoscopic mirage is born from the light </p><p>While words spoken in whispers calmly excite </p><p>Snowflakes of feathers are refreshing in July </p>

<div dir="ltr">The river is famous to the fish.<br dir="ltr"></div><div dir="ltr">The loud voice is famous to silence,&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br dir="ltr"></div><div dir="ltr">which knew it would inherit the earth&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br dir="ltr"></div><div dir="ltr">before anybody said so.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br dir="ltr"></div><div dir="ltr">The cat sleeping on the fence is famous to the birds&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br dir="ltr"></div><div dir="ltr">watching him from the birdhouse.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br dir="ltr"></div><div dir="ltr">The tear is famous, briefly, to the cheek.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br dir="ltr"></div><div dir="ltr">The idea you carry close to your bosom&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br dir="ltr"></div><div dir="ltr">is famous to your bosom.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br dir="ltr"></div><div dir="ltr">The boot is famous to the earth,&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br dir="ltr"></div><div dir="ltr">more famous than the dress shoe,&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br dir="ltr"></div><div dir="ltr">which is famous only to floors.<br dir="ltr"></div><div dir="ltr">The bent photograph is famous to the one who carries it&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br dir="ltr"></div><div dir="ltr">and not at all famous to the one who is pictured.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br dir="ltr"></div><div dir="ltr">I want to be famous to shuffling men&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br dir="ltr"></div><div dir="ltr">who smile while crossing streets,&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br dir="ltr"></div><div dir="ltr">sticky children in grocery lines,&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br dir="ltr"></div><div dir="ltr">famous as the one who smiled back.<br dir="ltr"></div><div dir="ltr">I want to be famous in the way a pulley is famous,&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br dir="ltr"></div><div dir="ltr">or a buttonhole, not because it did anything spectacular,&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br dir="ltr"></div><div>but because it never forgot what it could do.</div><img src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rYKa_YqDeF4/YPgBP05f35I/AAAAAAAABgg/auttjRXGzAcr0gXruXXYFPpkUXgy5KXlQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/px-downloadga7b2bc7199c62dc6231f30f2595c90f25b1c48b9e7f65f3e65ff9bd942df150530a7caece6c5ac1af3964bfd79e234cd_640.jpg" width="320" height="208"><div><span><b>All The World’s A Stage</b></span></div><div><b>By-William Shakespeare</b></div><div>All the world’s a stage,</div><div>And all the men and women merely players;</div><div>They have their exits and their entrances,</div><div>And one man in his time plays many parts,</div><div>His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,</div><div>Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms.</div><div>Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel</div><div>And shining morning face, creeping like snail</div><div>Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,</div><div>Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad</div><div>Made to his mistress’ eyebrow. Then a soldier,</div><div>Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,</div><div>Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,</div><div>Seeking the bubble reputation</div><div>Even in the cannon’s mouth. And then the justice,</div><div>In fair round belly with good capon lined,</div><div>With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,</div><div>Full of wise saws and modern instances;</div><div>And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts</div><div>Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,</div><div>With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;</div><div>His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide</div><div>For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,</div><div>Turning again toward childish treble, pipes</div><div>And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,</div><div>That ends this strange eventful history,</div><div>Is second childishness and mere oblivion,</div><div>Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.</div><h2>&nbsp;Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds</h2><p><span>by Kristina Louisa Carr</span></p><p>A kaleidoscopic mirage is born from the light</p><p>While words spoken in whispers calmly excite</p><p>Snowflakes of feathers are refreshing in July</p><p>A dragon is crowned visiting from Shanghai</p><p>Strawberries become mountains to explore</p><p>A room without doors I'm trying to ignore</p><p>From the corner the North Wind is blowing</p><p>Green marbles in a vase are brightly glowing&nbsp;</p><h3 dir="ltr"><a href="http://poetrylead.com/" dir="ltr">Once Upon a Time</a>&nbsp;</h3><p>by Gabriel Okara</p><p>And I have learned too</p><p>to laugh with only my teeth</p><p>and shake hands without my heart.</p><p>I have also learned to say,’Goodbye’,</p><p>when I mean ‘Good-riddance’:</p><p>to say ‘Glad to meet you’,</p><p>without being glad; and to say ‘It’s been</p><p>nice talking to you’, after being bored.&nbsp;</p><p><b><span>Who Said It Was Simple</span></b></p><p><b><span>by - Audre Lord</span></b></p><p>There are so many roots to the tree of anger&nbsp; &nbsp;</p><p>that sometimes the branches shatter&nbsp; &nbsp;</p><p>before they bear.</p><p>Sitting in Nedicks</p><p>the women rally before they march&nbsp; &nbsp;</p><p>discussing the problematic girls&nbsp; &nbsp;</p><p>they hire to make them free.</p><p>An almost white counterman passes&nbsp; &nbsp;</p><p>a waiting brother to serve them first&nbsp; &nbsp;</p><p>and the ladies neither notice nor reject&nbsp; &nbsp;</p><p>the slighter pleasures of their slavery.&nbsp; &nbsp;</p><p>But I who am bound by my mirror&nbsp; &nbsp;</p><p>as well as my bed</p><p>see causes in colour</p><p>as well as sex</p><p>and sit here wondering&nbsp; &nbsp;</p><p>which me will survive&nbsp; &nbsp;</p><p>all these liberations.</p><h3>Anecdote of the Jar</h3><p>by Wallace Stevens</p><p>I placed a jar in Tennessee,&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</p><p>And round it was, upon a hill.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</p><p>It made the slovenly wilderness&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</p><p>Surround that hill.</p><p>The wilderness rose up to it,</p><p>And sprawled around, no longer wild.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</p><p>The jar was round upon the ground&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</p><p>And tall and of a port in air.</p><p>It took dominion everywhere.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</p><p>The jar was gray and bare.</p><p>It did not give of bird or bush,&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</p><p>Like nothing else in Tennessee.&nbsp;</p><p><b>The People Upstairs</b></p><p><b>by Ogden Nash</b></p><p>The people upstairs all practise ballet</p><p>Their living room is a bowling alley</p><p>Their bedroom is full of conducted tours.</p><p>Their radio is louder than yours,</p><p>They celebrate week-ends all the week.</p><p>When they take a shower, your ceilings leak.</p><p>They try to get their parties to mix</p><p>By supplying their guests with Pogo sticks,</p><p>And when their fun at last abates,</p><p>They go to the bathroom on roller skates.</p><p>I might love the people upstairs more</p><p>If only they lived on another floor.&nbsp;</p><h4><span>A Red, Red Rose</span></h4><p><b><span>By-Robert Burns</span></b></p><p>O my Luve’s like a red, red rose</p><p>That’s newly sprung in june;</p><p>O my Luve’s like the melodie</p><p>That’s sweetly play’d in tune:</p><p>As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,</p><p>So deep in luve am I:</p><p>And I will luve thee still, my dear,</p><p>Till a’ the seas gang dry:</p><p>Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,</p><p>And the rocks melt wi’ the sun:</p><p>I will luve thee still, my dear,</p><p>While the sands o’ life shall run.</p><p>And fare thee weel, my only Luve</p><p>And fare thee weel, a while!</p><p>And I will come again, my Luve,</p><p>Tho’ it were ten thousand mile.</p><p><b>I'm nobody! Who are you?</b></p><p><b>by Emily Dickinson</b></p><p>I'm nobody! Who are you?</p><p>Are you nobody, too?</p><p>Then there's a pair of us — don't tell!</p><p>They'd banish us, you know.</p><p>How dreary to be somebody!</p><p>How public, like a frog</p><p>To tell your name the livelong day</p><p>To an admiring bog!&nbsp;</p><p>The New Colossus</p><p>by Emma Lazarus</p><p>Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,</p><p>With conquering limbs astride from land to land;</p><p>Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand</p><p>A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame</p><p>Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name</p><p>Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand</p><p>Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command</p><p>The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.</p><p>“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she</p><p>With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,</p><p>Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,</p><p>The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.</p><p>Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,</p><p>I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”&nbsp;</p>

<p><span>by Kristina Louisa Carr </span> </p>

<p>A kaleidoscopic mirage is born from the light </p>

<p>While words spoken in whispers calmly excite </p>

<p>Snowflakes of feathers are refreshing in July </p>

<p>A dragon is crowned visiting from Shanghai </p>

<p>Strawberries become mountains to explore </p>

<p>A room without doors I'm trying to ignore </p>

<p>From the corner the North Wind is blowing </p>

<p>Green marbles in a vase are brightly glowing  </p>

<p>and shake hands without my heart. </p>

<p>I have also learned to say,’Goodbye’, </p>

<p>without being glad; and to say ‘It’s been </p>

<p>nice talking to you’, after being bored.  </p>

<p><b><span>Who Said It Was Simple </span> </b> </p>

<p><b><span>by - Audre Lord </span> </b> </p>

<p>There are so many roots to the tree of anger    </p>

<p>that sometimes the branches shatter    </p>

<p>the women rally before they march    </p>

<p>discussing the problematic girls    </p>

<p>An almost white counterman passes    </p>

<p>a waiting brother to serve them first    </p>

<p>and the ladies neither notice nor reject    </p>

<p>the slighter pleasures of their slavery.    </p>

<p>But I who am bound by my mirror    </p>

<p>I placed a jar in Tennessee,    </p>

<p>And round it was, upon a hill.    </p>

<p>It made the slovenly wilderness    </p>

<p>And sprawled around, no longer wild.    </p>

<p>The jar was round upon the ground    </p>

<p>It took dominion everywhere.    </p>

<p>Like nothing else in Tennessee.  </p>

<p>The people upstairs all practise ballet </p>

<p>Their living room is a bowling alley </p>

<p>Their bedroom is full of conducted tours. </p>

<p>Their radio is louder than yours, </p>

<p>They celebrate week-ends all the week. </p>

<p>When they take a shower, your ceilings leak. </p>

<p>They try to get their parties to mix </p>

<p>By supplying their guests with Pogo sticks, </p>

<p>And when their fun at last abates, </p>

<p>They go to the bathroom on roller skates. </p>

<p>I might love the people upstairs more </p>

<p>If only they lived on another floor.  </p>

<p><b><span>By-Robert Burns </span> </b> </p>

<p>That’s sweetly play’d in tune: </p>

<p>As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, </p>

<p>And I will luve thee still, my dear, </p>

<p>And the rocks melt wi’ the sun: </p>

<p>While the sands o’ life shall run. </p>

<p>Tho’ it were ten thousand mile. </p>

<p>Then there's a pair of us — don't tell! </p>

<p>To tell your name the livelong day </p>

all time famous poem in my poetrylead collection

All time famous poem in my poetrylead collection

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