The 30 best short poems (by famous and anonymous authors).

A compilation of inspiring and memorable verses to let your imagination run wild.

The word "poetry" comes from the Latin poiesis, which means "quality of creating, making or producing". It is a creative act where aesthetics and beauty are manifested through words. Poetry is a literary genre associated with the expressive capacity and artistic sensibility that takes the form of verse, or sometimes prose.

In this article you will find a selection of short poems by famous and anonymous authors.

The Best Short Poems

There are countless poets and poetesses who have given us part of their artistic sensitivity through wonderful texts.

In this article you will find short poems by famous Latin American and Spanish authors, as well as by some anonymous poets..

1. Here (Octavio Paz)

My steps in this street

Resound

In another street

Where

I hear my footsteps

Passing on this street

Where

Only the fog is real.

2. To a general (Julio Cortázar)

Region of dirty hands of hairless brushes

of upside down children of toothbrushes

Zone where the rat is ennobled

and there are countless flags and they sing hymns

and someone pin you, you son of a bitch,

a medal on your chest

And you rot the same.

3. Every time I think of you (Anonymous)

Every time I think of you

my eyes break into tears;

and very sad I ask myself,

why do I love you so much?

4. Syndrome (Mario Benedetti)

I still have almost all my teeth

almost all my hair and very few gray hairs

I can make and break love

climb a staircase two by two

and run forty meters behind the bus

so I shouldn't feel old

but the serious problem is that before

I didn't pay attention to these details.

5. In the clear nights (Gloria Fuertes)

In the clear nights,

I solve the problem of the loneliness of being.

I invite the moon and with my shadow we are three.

6. Spellings of harmony (Antonio Machado)

Spellings of harmony

that inexperienced hand rehearses.

Hastío. Cacophony

of the everlasting piano

that as a child I listened to

dreaming of... I don't know what,

of something that never came,

everything that is already gone.

7. Farewell (Alejandra Pizarnik)

An abandoned fire kills its light.

A bird in love raises its song.

So many avid creatures in my silence

and this little rain that accompanies me.

8. Sleepless (Gabriela Mistral)

As I am a queen and I was a beggar, now

I live in pure trembling for you to leave me,

and I ask you, pale, every hour:

"Are you with me still, Oh, don't go away!"

I would make the marches smiling

and trusting now that you have come;

But even in sleep I am afraid

And I ask between dreams, "Art thou not gone?"

9. Rhyme LX (Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer)

My life is a wasteland,

a flower that I touch, it leaves its leaves;

that in my fatal path

someone is sowing evil

for me to reap.

10. Memory I leave (Nezahualcoyotl)

With what shall I leave?

Shall I leave nothing behind me on earth?

How shall my heart act?

Are we come to live in vain?

To sprout on earth?

Let us leave at least flowers

Let us leave at least songs

11. Your eyes are stars (Anonymous)

Your eyes are stars,

your lips are velvet,

and a love like the one I feel,

it's impossible to hide it.

12. The roller coaster (Nicanor Parra)

For half a century

Poetry was

The paradise of the solemn fool.

Until I came along

And settled in with my roller coaster.

Hop on, if you please.

Of course I don't answer if you come down

Pouring Blood from mouth and nostrils.

13. When the sea is round (Anonymous)

When the sea is round

and the sun stops shining

that will be the day

when I can forget you.

14. America, I do not invoke your name in vain (Pablo Neruda)

AMERICA,

I do not invoke your name in vain.

When I hold the sword to my heart

when I hold in my soul the leak,

when through the windows

a new day of yours penetrates me,

I am and I am in the light that produces me,

I live in the shadow that determines me,

I sleep and awake in your essential dawn:

sweet as grapes, and terrible,

conductor of sugar and punishment,

drenched in the sperm of your kind,

suckled in the blood of your inheritance.

15. The six strings (Federico García Lorca)

The guitar

makes dreams cry.

The sobbing of lost souls

lost souls

escapes through its mouth

round.

And like the tarantula

it weaves a great star

to hunt for sighs

that float in its black

wooden cistern.

16. My little tree (Antonio García Teijeiro)

My tree had

its branches of gold.

An envious wind

stole my treasure.

Today it has no branches

Today it has no dreams

my silent tree

my small tree.

17. Crisis (Francisco Gálvez)

Your voice seems from another time,

it no longer has that warm tone

of before, nor the complicity

of always, they are only words

and your affection is now discreet:

in your messages there is no more message.

18. Yo no soy yo (Juan Ramón Jiménez)

I am not me.

I am this

who goes by my side without me seeing him,

that, sometimes, I go to see,

and who, sometimes, I forget.

The one who is silent, serene, when I speak,

the one who forgives, sweet, when I hate,

the one who walks where I am not,

the one who will be left standing when I die...

19. Menos tu vientre (Miguel Hernández)

Minus your belly,

everything is confused.

Minus your belly

everything is future

fleeting, past

wasteland, murky.

Except your belly,

everything is hidden.

Except your belly,

all insecure,

all afterlife,

dust without a world.

Except your belly

all is dark.

Except your belly

clear and deep.

20. My faith (Pedro Salinas)

I don't trust the rose

paper rose,

so many times I made it

with my own hands.

Nor do I trust the other

true rose,

daughter of the sun and seasoning,

the fiancée of the wind.

Of you that I never made you,

of you who were never made,

on you I trust, round

sure chance.

21. The poet is a pretender (Fernando Pessoa)

The poet is a pretender.

He pretends so completely

that he even pretends that it is pain

the pain he really feels,

And, in the pain that they have read,

to read his readers come,

not the two he has had,

but only the one they don't have.

And so into life he goes,

distracting reason,

and turns, the toy train

that is called heart.

22. To the ear of a girl (Federico García Lorca)

I didn't want to.

I didn't want to tell you anything.

I saw in your eyes

two crazy little trees.

Of breeze, laughter and gold.

They wiggled.

I didn't want to.

I didn't want to tell you anything.

23. I love, you love... (Rubén Darío)

To love, to love, to love, to love always, with everything

the being and with the earth and with the sky,

with the light of the sun and the dark of the mud:

to love by all science and to love by all longing.

And when the mountain of life

is hard and long and high and full of abysses,

to love the immensity that is of burning love

and burn in the fusion of our very breasts!

Mademoiselle Isabel (Blas de Otero)

Mademoiselle Isabel, blonde and French,

with a blackbird under her skin,

I don't know whether that one or this one, oh mademoiselle

Isabel, sing in him or if he in that one.

Princess of my childhood; you, princess

promise, with two carnation breasts;

I, le livre, le crayon, le...le...le..., oh Isabel,

Isabel..., your garden trembles on the table.

At night, you smoothed your hair,

I would fall asleep, meditating on them

and on your body of rose: butterfly

pink and white, veiled with a veil.

Flown forever from my rose

-mademoiselle Isabel- and from my sky.

25. Knives in April (Pere Gimferrer)

I hate teenagers.

It is easy to pity them.

There is a carnation that freezes in their teeth

and how they look at us when they cry.

But I go much further.

In their gaze a garden I distinguish.

The light spits on the tiles

the broken harp of instinct.

I am violently cornered

this passion of loneliness

that cuts down young bodies

and then burns in a single beam.

Shall I then be like these?

(Life stops here)

A willow tree flames in the silence.

It was worth being happy.

26. Love (Salvador Novo)

To love is this timid silence

close to you, without you knowing it,

and to remember your voice when you leave

and feeling the warmth of your greeting.

To love is to wait for you

as if you were part of the sunset,

neither before nor after, so that we can be alone

between games and stories

on the dry earth.

To love is to perceive, when you are absent,

your perfume in the air I breathe,

and to contemplate the star in which you move away

when I close the door of the night.

27. Come in and forget (Rubén Darío)

Pilgrim who goes searching in vain

a better way than your way,

how do you want me to give you my hand,

if my sign is your sign, Pilgrim?

You will never reach your destination;

you carry death in you like the worm

that gnaws at what you have of human...

what you have of human and divine!

Go on quietly, O wayfarer!

You are still far away

that incognito country that you dream of...

And dreaming is an evil. Pass on and forget,

For if you are determined to dream, you are determined

in fanning the flame of your life.

28. With you (Luis Cernuda)

My land?

My land is you.

My people?

My people are you.

Exile and death

for me are where

you are not.

And my life?

Tell me, my life,

what is it, if not you?

29. In the tree of my chest (Gloria Fuertes)

In the tree of my chest

there is an incarnated bird.

When I see you it gets scared,

flaps its wings, jumps.

In the tree of my chest

there is an incarnate bird.

When I see you he gets scared,

you're a scarecrow!

30. Desire (Luis Cernuda)

Through the quiet field of September,

from the yellow poplar some leaf,

like a broken star,

turning to the ground comes.

If thus the unconscious soul,

Lord of stars and leaves,

were, flaming shadow,

from life to death.