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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:  The Calls
   
Poem category:  War Poems
   
Poets name:  Wilfrid Owen
   
Poet Biography:  Wilfred Owen was born 1893 in Oswestry (United Kingdom). He moved to Bordeaux (France) in 1913, as a teacher of English. He enlisted in the Artists' Rifles on 21st October 1915. Drafted to France in 1917 his total war experience was short: four months, from which only five weeks in the line. On this is based all his war poetry. After battle experience, thoroughly shocked by horrors of war, he went to Craiglockhart War Hospital near Edinburgh. Owen returned to France in 1918 and just seven days before war ended on 11th November 1918 at 11 o'clock, he was killed in one of the last vain battles of the war.
   
Poem:  A dismal fog-hoarse siren howls at dawn.
I watch the man it calls for, pushed and drawn
Backwards and forwards, helpless as a pawn.
But I'm lazy, and his work's crazy.

Quick treble bells begin at nine o'clock,
Scuttling the schoolboy pulling up his sock,
Scaring the late girl in the inky frock.
I must be crazy; I learn from the daisy.

Stern bells annoy the rooks and doves at ten.
I watch the verger close the doors, and when
I hear the organ moan the first amen,
Sing my religion's-same as pigeons'.

A blatant bugle tears my afternoons.
Out clump the clumsy Tommies by platoons,
Trying to keep in step with rag-time tunes,
But I sit still; I've done my drill.

Gongs hum and buzz like saucepan-lids at dusk,
I see a food-hog whet his gold-filled tusk
To eat less bread, and more luxurious rusk.

Then sometimes late at night my window bumps
From gunnery-practice, till my small heart thumps
And listens for the shell-shrieks and the crumps,
But that's not all.

For leaning out last midnight on my sill
I heard the sighs of men, that have no skill
To speak of their distress, no, nor the will!
A voice I know. And this time I must go.



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